


burn bright

by Anonymous



Category: 1917 (Movie 2019), Firefly, Serenity (2005)
Genre: ALL THE FLUFF, Aftercare, Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Alternate Universe - Firefly Setting, Alternate Universe - Science Fiction, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Come Marking, Companions (Firefly), Companions are not just prostitutes, Cuddlefucking, Cuddling & Snuggling, Demisexual Character, Desperate Sex, Developing Relationship, Doctor!Tom Blake, Drabbles, Dreams and Nightmares, Empathy, Episode: s01e01 Pilot, Episode: s01e03 Bushwhacked, Established Relationship, Feelings Realization, Ficlets, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Fluff and Smut, Implied/Referenced Rough Sex, Intercrural Sex, Intimacy, Joefield, Light Bondage, Literal Sleeping Together, Long-Distance Relationship, M/M, Mild Hurt/Comfort, Mildly Dubious Consent, Mind Sex, Mostly because people question Joe's ability to consent, Non-Linear Narrative, Non-Sexual Intimacy, Oral Sex, Platonic Cuddling, Platonic Male/Male Relationships, Political/Arranged Marriage, Porn With Plot, Porn with Feelings, Post-Coital Cuddling, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Post-War, Presumed Dead, Relationship Negotiation, Richfield, River!Joseph Blake, Sensuality vs Sexuality, Sex, Suicidal Thoughts, Telempathy, Telepathy, Threesome - M/M/M, Voyeurism, War, Whump, assortment of ficlets/drabbles, autonomy, but he can and he does, courtesan!Will, eventual polyamory, governor!Richards, rarepair hell ahead, touch-aversion, vaguely Firefly!AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-29
Updated: 2020-08-30
Packaged: 2021-03-06 03:27:10
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 40
Words: 34,875
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25586668
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: Firefly!AU, where Will is a Companion, the Blake brothers are the Tam siblings, and Captain Smith, Lieutenant Leslie, & the Convoy Lads are Serenity's crew.  Can be read in chronological order -- note the number in parentheses preceding the chapter title for the sequence.  NSFW chapters are flagged in individual chapter titles.  Tags for each chapter are listed in the notes at the beginning.Including (but not limited to):• Captain Smith, trying to just mind his own gorram business• Blake, Joseph, former government science project now working to reclaim his own mind and body• Leslie, who just needs some goddamn sleep• Governor Richards, very happy with a Companion as his significant other (and willing to show precisely how little he cares about the rest of the 'verse for his lover's sake)• Blake, Thomas, determined to make sure his older brother is safe at last• Companion Schofield, good at taking care of everyone except himself• Honestly this has just turned into "how many times can I write about these characters reaffirming their devotion to each other through the medium of cuddling and sex" and as it turns out, the answer is: quite a lot.
Relationships: Benjamin Richards/William Schofield, Joseph Blake & William Schofield, Joseph Blake/Lieutenant Richards/William Schofield, Joseph Blake/William Schofield, Lieutenant Richards/William Schofield, William Schofield/Benjamin Richards, William Schofield/Lieutenant Richards
Comments: 42
Kudos: 11
Collections: Anonymous





	1. (16) Richards

**Author's Note:**

  * For [yonderlight](https://archiveofourown.org/users/yonderlight/gifts), [writeyourownstory](https://archiveofourown.org/users/writeyourownstory/gifts), [Baylard](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Baylard/gifts).

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Richards retains Companion Schofield's time for the weekend that Schofield is in Persephone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> dedicated to the fantabulous persons of @yonderlight, @writeyourownstory, @baylard!
> 
> 1\. plottish  
> 2\. timeline-wise: this is about one month after the Blake brothers join the crew  
> 3\. tags: sex, implied rough sex, established relationship
> 
> **chapter titles (and the roman numerals) basically have literally no relevance. They're all p much independent of each other. each chapter is standalone, unless otherwise noted.** If you would like to read the chapters in chronological order, check the number prefixing each name (e.g. "(16) Richards" is the 16th chapter if you go by chronological order).

"Ben, what are you doing?" 

It's Will. He has the appropriately affectionate tone for someone whose significant other is awake and burning the midnight oil. Benjamin appreciates it and leans back into the arms that twine around his shoulders, hands that reach down to tease at his waistband.

"Work," Benjamin lies, not bothering to hide the windows open on his desk screens. The scratches Will has left down Benjamin's back earlier this evening burn, slightly. Benjamin briefly cherishes the thought that, whatever Will's line of work these days, Benjamin is still one of the few to truly cause him to absolutely lose his mind. "Some last-minute requests for Halcyon, on the other side of Persephone. The Alliance bureaucracy never rests."

There's a pause whilst Will breathes steadily over Benjamin's shoulder, breath curling about Benjamin's collarbones. He doesn't flinch to see the information displayed there, where Benjamin has hacked into some obscure Alliance server, about something called The Academy.

"You shouldn't be on this," Will says eventually.

Benjamin stretches back to find a grip on Will as Will stretches forward to reach for the desk controls, closing out of the search program and executing the secondary coverage program that will erase Benjamin's tracks without Benjamin's prompting. 

"Does it help?" he asks.

Will turns his affectionate huff into an open-mouthed kiss on the pulse-point beneath and behind Benjamin's ear. "Come back to bed," he murmurs when Benjamin hums.

Benjamin goes willingly enough. It's not often that the Governor of Persephone has such fantastic company, after all.

The silken robe Will wears is only loosely tied around his waist. Benjamin pauses for a moment to admire the picture the man makes as he leads Benjamin back, slightly disheveled despite Will's best attempts otherwise. It is so easy to imagine pushing him towards the bed, untying it as Benjamin goes, and spreading Will out on it and fucking him until he _mewls --_

Now that Benjamin thinks of it, he has better things to do than fret about Will's current company on that blasted ship. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> in their slooooooooooow evolution of _friends_ to _actually married_ , you are here:  
> friends > friends with benefits > just friends again > enemies > friends > friends with benefits > **friends with benefits who maybe want something more** > sort of married > actually married


	2. (10) Smith

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ellis Leslie would like to rely on more than alcohol as a support. Unfortunately, he can't keep from lashing out.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1\. plot-ish  
> 2\. timeline-wise: about one month before the events of chapter 7  
> 3\. tags: alcohol abuse

"Um," Rossi says, as though he already regrets opening his mouth. "Um. Sir?"

"What?" Smith asks. It is so late in the ship's cycle -- nearly everyone is asleep, like Smith was. He hopes it isn't Cooke, again. And why isn't Butler dealing with it?

"It's Leslie," Rossi says. He fidgets when Smith looks at him. "He's, erm. He's banging on Schofield's door again."

"And this is a problem?" Smith asks. He does his best to keep his tone neutral, but he doesn't  _ quite _ think he's gotten the crossness out of it; Rossi briefly looks like he'd rather be anywhere else but here.

"Companion Schofield is sending messages requesting I deal with it?" Rossi hazards.

Smith stares at him, and sighs. Deeply. Internally. Probably because at this point, Butler has started blocking Schofield, and so has Smith -- when it comes to this. Smith doesn't need to know what goes on in that shuttle.

Still -- Schofield is a paying tenant. He is always on time and he keeps his word, even when it counts the most. He deserves Smith's courtesy in this matter.

"I'll deal with it," he tells Rossi. Rossi is far more capable with an engine room anyway, he hasn't the diplomacy necessary for this sort of situation. "Get on back to your rest -- I assume you were resting?"

"Yes Sir," Rossi replies hastily, and scuttles off.

Smith stomps his way to the shuttle's entrance in a high dudgeon. Half the time Schofield is on his ship, Smith swears he regrets ever renting the spare shuttle out; the other half of the time, Smith could bless the ground the man walks on. He wonders which it will be, this time.

True to Rossi's words, Leslie is hammering away at the closed doors. He's shouting incoherently -- things about the war, it sounds like -- and even from fifteen feet away, Smith can smell the alcohol. 

"Ellis," Smith says, weary. "What are you up to now? Why are you bothering him?"

Leslie startles awfully. "Shove off, Henry. We have  _ an arrangement," _ he hisses at Smith when he regains (what is left of) his composure. He raises his voice and shouts the last, clearly intending to be heard. "And this bloody  _ whore _ isn't upholding it!"

"Ellis," Smith says, warily, because he really doesn't want to know what the arrangement entails. "Ellis, don't be unreasonable. You know Schofield is true to his word. What did you do?"

Leslie pounds on the door a few more times. Smith reads little more than desperation in it, then despair -- the man has given up with Smith's arrival, and knows he is only postponing the inevitable. 

"Nothing," Leslie swears bitterly. "Nothing but tell him the truth."

Smith isn't sure what truth, exactly, Leslie is talking about, but it sure weren't a palatable one. He shoos Leslie off into the direction of his cramped bunk. Leslie lets himself get scolded along -- the fight has gone out of him -- and that is, this night, the end of the matter.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm suppose to be doing something else but instead drabbles


	3. (19) Blake, Joseph

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> How does he _do_ it?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1\. character development through smut/snuggles (smuggles) (CDTS)  
> 2\. timeline-wise: maybe a month after Tom sneaks Joe into the hospital, four monthsish after they join the ship and three months after chapter 1  
> 3\. tags: gratuitous description of telempathy (telepathy + empathy)

Companion Schofield does not react in the way that most people would react when he enters his shuttle and finds Joseph sitting on one of the cushions on the floor. Cooke, Rossi, and Leslie shriek a lot when Joseph surprises them; Leslie also throws things if he isn't doing something delicate. Smith, Butler, and Tom all swear up a storm (Tom usually does it internally) and go carefully still, as though Joseph will snap and do something awful. Shepherd Jondolar also does this, but he usually doesn't swear.

Companion Schofield pauses for a long moment with many swift, startled thoughts (some panicked; Joseph briefly regrets causing that) -- then subsumes them all under  _ I left my shuttle locked -- ah, the vents. _ When he smiles at Joseph and says hello, he means it.

Joseph stares at him. Joseph's head is -- such a mess. So is Companion Schofield's. But Companion Schofield isn't crippled by it. 

"I don't think your brother would be happy to find out you're coming to me for anything," Companion Schofield continues when Joseph doesn't respond. Joseph can taste the uneasiness the taller man feels like the creeping smoke that first tipped Schofield off that something was wrong, so many years ago . . .

"He doesn't know you," Joseph says, wrenching himself away from following that memory. The present -- he needs to focus on the present. Companion Schofield doesn't seem to understand what Joseph means by that and there's suspicion, now. Joseph needs to clarify. "Leslie comes to you for it."

Companion Schofield stills even as his thoughts race.  _ Ellis only brags about sex _ flavored with skepticism, Joseph hears, and  _ He knows about that? _ which is bright like lemon and  _ Hmm, that could work _ and the sense of tasting sweat after a long day's work outside, all pulsing through the Companion's mind nearly at the same time. Just as quickly as they come, they are tucked neatly away beneath a smooth, shimmering blanket.

Joseph revels in it. Each thought is expressed, briefly acknowledged, and then dismissed. It's orderly. It's  _ freeing. _

"If you like," Companion Schofield says. His body doesn't betray anything, but Joseph feels the shrug anyway. Soft amusement and a stifled sense of dismay, next: "Is it easier to visit by breaking in through the vents?"

If Joseph isn't walking through the corridors, he can pretend the real people don't exist. It helps block them out, sometimes. "Yes," he says. He hopes Companion Schofield won't forbid him from doing that and misses whatever the man's initial internal reaction is to Joseph's response -- when Joseph listens again, he hears only some sort of curious understanding.

"Let me make some tea," the Companion says.  _ Make yourself comfortable _ is considered but left unsaid; Joseph has already made himself comfortable by breaking in. "Tell me -- what would you like me to call you?"

"Joe," Joseph says as Companion Schofield pours water into a small kettle for boiling. Joseph prefers being called Joe. Tom calls him Joe, and it reminds Joseph that he was something other than Blake, Joseph, once.

"Call me Will," Companion Schofield says, and smiles again. It's a gesture that genuinely matches the quiet pleasure Joseph senses in the man. "It's nice to meet you, Joe."


	4. (9) Leslie

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Leslie needs some sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1\. plot bg  
> 2\. timeline-wise: 3 months before chapter 2  
> 3\. tags: alcohol abuse, seeking comfort

Ellis Leslie, pilot, tips the flask all the way up, feeling the rolling burn of Rossi's god-awful moonshine as it scores its way down the back of his throat. It's not enough -- not nearly enough. He's been having the nightmares again, and he's going to have them tonight, he just knows it, and he can't stand to see them all die in front of him --

"Had enough, haven't you?" 

The disapproval is clear despite the careful neutrality of the tone. It's Butler, Smith's second in command -- bloody righteous arsehole. Boy -- and he's still a boy for all he's got his fancy-dancy mustache now -- wasn't even properly old enough to fight in the war. All he did was carry ammunition or water or whatever the fuck they needed. Sure didn't bring Ellis anything, nor his boys nothing, or save them when they died, either.

"All out," Ellis says sourly and censors himself from adding  _ fuck off. _ He isn't  _ that _ drunk, not yet. 

Butler just looks at him. "Just up here, or in your room, too?"

"Fuck off," Ellis snarls, properly this time. Butler's goading him, he's entitled at this point.

"Right," Butler says, looking around, clearly disgruntled. Probably he's going to insist he take the remainder of Ellis's watch.

"You here for anything in particular?" Ellis asks instead. Maybe Butler won't offer and Ellis can finish his watch in peace and won't have to deal with an irate Smith in the morning.

"The Captain wanted an ETA."

Ellis scowls. "It's the same as before," he says. "Two days, give or take."

Either Butler is fucking stupid or he's fucking blind. "Give or take what?" he asks, watching Ellis narrowly.

"You know what?" Ellis asks no one. "Fine. Take the rest of my fucking watch. If you're not fucking off,  _ I'm _ fucking off."

"What? Wait --"

Too late. Ellis is off the bridge and no longer in charge. Fuck Butler.

. . . who wasn't wrong. Ellis does still have some of that shit he was drinking earlier in his bunk. The problem is it's still god-awful and whatever went into this batch in particular has been leaving him with truly wicked headaches at the start of the next day cycle. 

His feet carry him to the Companion's shuttle without him meaning to. It's not like Ellis makes a habit of this. But Schofield does have that one tea that he makes, sometimes, and sleeping with someone else -- well, Schofield's been awfully good about Ellis waking him when Ellis dreams that Harvey's blood is seeping into the ground, or that Kilgour's brains are leaking out, or that Buchanan is screaming his head off while he struggles to pull himself back to their position with both his legs blown away -- 

\--Anyway, Schofield can pull Ellis right out of it.

He knocks at Schofield's shuttle's entrance. "I want to come to an arrangement," Ellis says when the Companion opens the door. He can't muster the energy to bluster; he just wants some rest. "I can't sleep with all these fucking nightmares." 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hmmm sometimes writing these helps with the stuff I'm SUPPOSED to be writing hmmmm


	5. (6) Richards, II [nsfw]

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Benjamin Richards and Companion Schofield have a different relationship than Benjamin Richards and William Schofield, but it just takes some time to get back to where they were.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1\. CDTS  
> 2\. for @writeyourownstory who is egging me on to write MORE of this pairing askljdasjdlasjd I heckin' love it  
> 3\. timeline-wise: happens? a year after Schofield becomes a Companion? ish?  
> 4\. tags: discussion of Companions (prostitution), sex, rough sex, evolving relationship

Benjamin knows he doesn't get all of Will when he retains Will's services as a Companion. It is a Companion's trade to sell their company, their comfort, and their commitment, but it is only ever in a physical sense. They don't sell their care or their love, not truly, and Benjamin would mourn it -- he got it freely when they served together in the war -- but, well. They aren't in the war, and where Benjamin has gained much in the years after it, Will has lost nearly everything. Benjamin contents himself with the thought that he and Will are still friends, at least.

Benjamin is Will's first official client. He makes a point of outbidding everyone else for Will's debut, though Benjamin knows it's a bit selfish. He is at least able to tell Will truthfully that he outbids everyone else because Benjamin does, actually, want to be the first to sample whatever it is Will offers nowadays, and reassure Will that it is definitely not because Benjamin wants to somehow preserve his virtue.

("It's not like you had any when we wanked each other in the barracks," Benjamin points out during _that_ fight.

"That's not what I mean!" Will snaps. And he's right -- that was different -- but, still. Neither of them can count the number of men they've killed at this point. Whether it's death or sex, they've both sold their bodies and skills before.)

So Benjamin doesn't get all of Will the first time, nor the second. Not even the third or the fourth, both of those brief afternoons where Will happens to be in the vicinity and able to be persuaded to take tea (amongst other things) in what Benjamin's mind insists was delightfully lazy golden sunshine despite the fact that he distinctly recalls a terrible thunderstorm grounding nearly all shuttle traffic during one of them. 

(--not that these times weren't enjoyable. Whatever training Companions received, it was very thorough. Benjamin spent ten years of his life in the Army before leaving it for politics, and even _he_ wasn't aware of half the tricks Will learnt.)

No, it is the fifth time where Will finally seems to realise that Benjamin is happy to just take Will as he is. 

Benjamin's not sure what tips him off that this time is different. Perhaps it is in how Will is the one who starts things off by kissing his way up Benjamin's throat, or how Will licks his way into Benjamin's mouth with a surprising hunger, or maybe it is how some of that Companion polish cracks away and Will turns into a wild thing once Benjamin has him laid out on the bed. Will claws them both through the most blindingly forceful orgasm Benjamin has ever experienced with a rawness that Benjamin doesn't quite think the Companion's Guild would sanction, even if it is highly effective. 

(This is the time Benjamin remembers the most, because Will didn't stop there. Will waited the bare minimum for both of them to be ready to go after that first encounter before he became outright _demanding,_ all teeth and tongue and tight, clenching heat. Over the next three rounds that day, he had Benjamin swearing, then screaming, and, finally, sobbing. Will only seemed satisfied when the both of them were scratched and bruised and utterly spent.) 

"What was all that about?" Benjamin inquires hazily when they are finished.

"Bad month," Will mumbles into Benjamin's shoulder, absolutely graceless and more achingly familiar in being so than Benjamin cares to admit. Benjamin finds the wherewithal to pull him closer and though Will grumbles a little at the movement, he sighs once he is wrapped in Benjamin's arms and their legs are tangled together. "I'm glad to be back."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> xoxoxo


	6. (20) Will & Joe

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A Companion's Contract is not lightly agreed to.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1\. CDTS  
> 2\. timeline-wise: takes place a week(ish) after chapter 3  
> 3\. tags: relationship negotiations, sensual relationship vs sexual relationship, implied past abuse/torture/conditioning

Will, initially, has some slight reservation about drawing up a formal Companion's Contract with Joe. Joe indicated he wished to keep his brother out of the process and Will is well-aware of the penurious circumstances in which the two of them came to travel on Smith's ship.

But Joe does not blink when Will passes him the result. He reads it with far more clarity than Will anticipated, makes changes to the expectations, and then passes it back for Will to review. The changes consist chiefly of the large swathes of the contract that detail sexual intimacy being crossed out with _No, thank you_ written in the margins and one cryptic addition of _Please just think a lot._ Joe doesn't object to the stipulations about timing -- he isn't to break into the shuttle while Will is asleep, for example -- nor to the price. 

Will does pause when he gets to the section of violence on the part of the client. Worryingly, the note here is _Double the dose_ where the contract vaguely promises "timely retribution in self-defense." It is odd that Joe would know about a Companion's sedative -- it isn't exactly common knowledge. He looks at Joe. 

Joe is studying the grain of the low table they are sitting at and does not look up. "I have a tolerance," he says instead, words oddly clipped for all that they are precisely enunciated.

\--Hmm. So Joe thinks it is a possibility that he will become violent. Even more interestingly, he is warning Will ahead of time, indicating that he does not wish to cause harm in the first place. The implications of that merit thought. Moreover, Will can only imagine how one would acquire a tolerance for sedation; nothing that would . . . 

\--Well, for the time being, that is neither here nor there. What matters is Joe is clearly operating in good faith. 

Will touches one of Joe's hands lightly. "Thank you," he says even as Joe very carefully holds still. Will stamps the contract with his seal.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> my goodness how does it always come to these two


	7. (11) Blake, Thomas

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tom made it off Persephone -- but that doesn't mean he and Joe are safe . . .

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1\. plot  
> 2\. timeline-wise: when the Blake brothers join the ship (threeish months before the previous chapter)  
> 3\. some dialogue repurposed from episode 1  
> 4\. tags: brothers

In the wake of Leslie's terse "We're being hailed by the Alliance, Captain. Orders to stay course and prepare for prisoner transfer," Tom reels. Fuck.  _ Fuck. _ The government knows where they are, they're hailing the ship now, they're going to catch them both and Tom and his parents will have spent two years for  _ nothing _ \--

"You're a trauma surgeon, right? Get him to the infirmary," Smith is saying. "You're going to fix this." 

"Until the government comes?" Tom says. He feels frozen. "And then you'll hand me over, I expect."

"This is on your head," Smith snaps, trying to staunch the bleeding.

Tom stares at Rossi. He can see the engineer is already going into shock. "Change course," Tom says, suddenly. "Run."

"No," Smith says.

"Then he'll die," Tom says flatly. "I won't help him."

Smith stares at him, taken aback. "Damnit, boy. He dies, you won't live long enough to get on the Feds' ship!"

"He'll still be dead," Tom says recklessly. "So what'll it be, Captain?"

For a heart-stopping moment, Tom thinks Smith is going to tell him to go to hell. But then he snaps out orders -- Cooke and Companion Schofield pick the engineer up and Butler heads to the bridge to tell Leslie to change course. 

Tom is slightly surprised when the person who stays with him and the Captain in the infirmary is the Companion. "Just knowing anatomy won't be enough to help," Tom says tersely, rummaging through the available supplies as Captain Smith and Companion Schofield stretch Rossi out on the table. "If you're not going to help, get out."

"He's got as much field surgery experience as I have," Captain Smith says crisply, rolling up his sleeves. "Alliance experience, even. And Leslie's useless."

Ah -- a war veteran. Not totally useless, then. "Dope him," Tom says, tossing Smith the hypo. 

The next hour or so passes in a blur. Tom might have been shite at concentrating on his book studies, but that was why he specialised in surgery -- always hands-on, constantly in motion. He never lost focus in the operating room. 

The bullet fragmented on entry, but that was to be expected. He plucks the pieces out one by one and repairs the torn blood vessels. Fortunately, there isn't any major organ damage. It isn't long before he's closing up the excision and cleaning the wound.

"I can't do anything more until he stabilises," Tom reports then. He leans back, examining the wound critically; it's as neat a job as he can manage with this equipment. "Dunno when that'll be. Keep that saline in and he should wake up within a day, at the very latest."

"If he doesn't?" Smith asks, clipped.

"He will," Tom says, confident about that. He did his job perfectly, even if he can't anticipate the precise conjunction of when the hypo sedatives and the shock will abate, to what extent painkillers will suppress or not suppress the lingering pain, and anything else that might factor into Rossi blinking back to wakefulness to give a useful estimate of when the engineer will come around. 

"Then I'd like to know what's going on," Schofield remarks, grim. He's looking a tad pale -- come to think of it, so is Captain Smith. What are they, afraid of blood?

"Why don't we find out?" Smith asks roughly, stripping the gloves from his hands and tossing them in the waste chute. He strides out of the room. "C'mon, Schofield."

"Wait, what?" Schofield is following with one last frown at Rossi on the table. "Wait!" 

Tom curses, stripping out of his own gloves and tossing them carelessly on the floor as he scrambles for the door. "No, don't!" he shouts as he goes. "Stop!"

They know the corridors better than he and are already in the cargo bay when he catches up. Schofield snatches him before Tom can tackle the Captain and holds him in a headlock -- damn, damn, _damn_ who knew Companions were this  _ strong _ \-- and Tom can only watch in horror as Smith flicks the latches of his brother's case and kicks the lid off. 

Smith stares. Looks at Tom -- Tom sees blank astonishment. Looks back in the case. Looks back at Tom.

"Huh," he says, looking back into the case.

Tom is galvanized. "Let me go," he says, and starts struggling in earnest. Schofield's grip tightens, fuck. Tom thinks frantically -- persuasion? "I need to check his vitals. He's not supposed to wake up for another week, the shock -- let me go!"

"The shock of what?" Smith demands, tone turning deadly. "Waking up to find out he's been sold as a slave? I've done a lot of things in my life I may regret, but never once have I been party to slavery --"

Joe sits up and screams. He trips out of the case and tumbles to the floor and screams when he hits the metal; he looks around and sees nothing and screams and screams and screams.

Tom wrenches out of the Companion's grip and scrambles for his brother. "Joe!" he shouts. Joe flinches back from Tom's hands. Tom and gulps and does his best to modulate his tone to something calmer. "Joe -- Joe! It's me. It's me!"

"Tom?" Joe whispers, and focuses, finally. He starts to cry and it's fucking terrifying -- Joe's supposed to be -- never mind. Joe needs Tom right now and that means Tom has to keep himself together. 

Tom hugs him, hard. "Sorry it took so long," he whispers. "I'm sorry, Joe."


	8. (17) Will

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A promise, of sorts.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1\. CDTS  
> 2\. timeline-wise: this happens during the same weekend as the first chapter  
> 3\. tags: established relationship, long-distance relationship

"I'd be perfectly happy with you as my personal Companion.  _ Must _ you go?" Ben asks. Will knows the wistful tone is genuine, even if his friend is only play-acting a great romance or something of the like. Will feels it strike some chord in him. To stay . . . to set down roots, roots so easily torn --

_ Benjamin is a Governor, _ Will reminds himself.  _ He is not as undefended as Ellie and the girls. It is safe to love him. _

But he can't quite shake the chill that is set in him now at the remembrance of it. "I'm a working man, Ben," Will replies instead, kissing the other man's cheek affectionately. "I'd go mad without something to set my hands to."

"You could set them to me, though," Ben suggests with a keenly-timed waggle of an eyebrow. He lowers his voice. "In my home, in my bed . . ."

Will kisses him for real, this time. "Bless you," he says fondly when they are both short of breath. He hopes the kiss has covered the way he can't quite keep tears from pricking at the corners of his eyes. "Bless you, Ben." 

Ben sets his forehead to Will's. "But no?" he asks. Will hears the undercurrent of -- it's not bitterness, not truly, but it isn't sweet enough to be the more palatable alternative. He is dismayed. For all his Companion's training, Will doesn't think he could bear to lose Benjamin, too.

Will cups the side of Ben's face. "But not yet," he corrects, too forcefully, and is suddenly nervous.

He needn't have worried. Ben's smile is as blinding as ever. "But not yet," he agrees, easily.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> unexpected hypershort ficlet is unexpected ~~why do I ship them so much so suddenly~~


	9. (21) Will & Joe, II

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A month's worth of liaisons lead to routine.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1\. \o/ after writing [170k of slow-burn friendship](https://archiveofourown.org/series/1656289) I ship Will and Joe in every possible configuration sorry not sorry~  
> 2\. CDTS  
> 3\. timeline-wise: this happens a month after chapter 6  
> 4\. tags: sensual relationship vs sexual relationship, non-sexual intimacy, cuddles, tea, massages, Companion training isn't just on how to be great in bed

It is late in the day part of the ship's cycle. Not so near the evening for dinner, let alone late enough for Ellis to come slinking in, but well after lunch, certainly. Will has programmed the shuttle's lighting to mimic the daylight on Persephone, following Persephone's natural sun cycle. It's a personal indulgence, a reminder of Ben.

It's the only such indulgence Will permits himself. The remainder of the shuttle is appointed with sumptuous furnishings, decorated mostly to impress viewers with exquisite taste. Joe doesn't seem impressed, but he also hasn't objected to them thus far; Will rather thinks that the man finds comfort in the opulence. Whatever Joe is trying to escape, luxury was not a part of it.

They have a routine, now: 

They start with the most soothing tea Will knows how to brew. It's not the kind most Companions serve, as putting clients to sleep is not usually the purpose of an encounter, but Will keeps it on hand for himself and it seems to do the trick for Joe as well. This is served with a touch of cream to make its texture silky and with enough sugar to make it go down easily. 

After that, they move to Will's couch. Will finds this the trickiest part. Joe is disturbingly accustomed to being . . . handled. If Will allowed himself to dwell on unhappiness these days, he would actively dislike how readily the younger man will allow himself to be moved about like an object, whether it is by his brother in a medical lab or Will in his shuttle. He hasn't discussed it with Joe to any degree, but after forming this opinion, Will does his best not to offer any unsolicited touch. 

(It is difficult not to offer. Will is not used to restraining himself from offering comfort to people who genuinely need it; it is hard not to reach out in an attempt to sooth. But that isn't what Joe needs, Will thinks. He would rather Joe sought it out of his own volition.) 

\--So instead of taking Joe's hand to lead him to the couch, Will merely holds his own out in invitation. Sometimes Joe takes it; sometimes he just gets up and follows Will over.

Will settles himself first, casually positioned so that he has cushions set behind him that he can easily relax into. Once Will is comfortably in place (and Joe always knows, somehow), Joe joins him, stretching out, gingerly using Will's lap as a pillow. Then -- when Joe closes his eyes -- Will sets to soothing out the remainder of that strange stress the tea does not erase.

There's not much Will can do with the way Joe's head is in Will's lap, but they have found that this is how Joe relaxes most easily. Joe seems perpetually bemused by it. Will is not; he has seen all sorts of things in his four years of being a Companion and stranger things still in his time in the Army -- he finds little use in wondering why. Nevertheless, awkward position or not, Will does know some things about easing headaches -- easing tension in general. 

He strokes Joe's face, using basic massage techniques and his fingertips to coax Joe into relaxing. He takes particular care to dig into the musculature beneath Joe's cheekbones, starting near his nose and moving slowly towards the hinge of his jaw; Joe grinds his teeth when he sleeps, and this will help. Will thinks, this time, that he can also apply some pressure to the muscles connecting the skull to the neck. Joe doesn't always take it well, but today he just sighs at the first press and tips his head so Will has better access.

By the time Will sinks his fingers into the curled snarl of Joe's hair and rubs his fingertips over Joe's scalp (circular motions, gentle, designed to be soothing), Joe is asleep. When Will finishes, he leans back into his cushions. As he settles the younger man's head more comfortably, he absently strokes the pulse-point beneath Joe's left ear with one thumb. Joe doesn't stir.

Will has time to himself now -- perhaps two hours before Joe wakes. It's nice to have time like this, he has to admit, where he isn't expected to be doing anything but be here, monitoring a client's rest. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> still for @writeyourownstory! your crack is my crack, darling! /SNORTS


	10. (1) Smith, II

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The war was more 'n ten years ago, but memories are long.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1\. plot bg  
> 2\. timeline-wise: ten years before the Blake brothers join the ship (chapter 7)  
> 3\. tags: war, siege, surrender, backstory dimension

It's been quiet for hours. Smith and his men don't know why and they don't really care. Then: the radio squawks.

It goes through what's left of Smith's command, crowded into these last four rooms of the fort they briefly occupied. Besieged for a week, promised reinforcements five days ago, holding on even as they were slowly driven further and further in. They ran out of food yesterday. But now --  _ hope. _

"What are the Independents saying?" Smith asks his radioman urgently. "When are they sending reinforcements?"

Marleigh listens, frowning fiercely in concentration. His face goes white. "It's too hot," Marleigh says. His words are leaden, heavy with disbelief. "They aren't sending anyone. It's too hot."

The life goes out of the room. Smith sags along with every other person there. They're on their own.

"We can still fight," Lawrence says stubbornly, the youngest of all of them -- only what, 14 years old? God -- what are they doing. Smith can see the boy's chin firm up under the weight of his stare. Behind him, Leslie -- last man standing of his own unit -- looks away.

Smith looks around the room again, what soldiers he can see. There isn't a single one who isn't injured. They're tired, they're hungry -- and they deserve better than dying forgotten in the backrooms of a half-destroyed fort. So, though it sticks in his throat: "No," he says. It's a death knell. 

"No," he repeats quieter, as though it will gentle the blow of the first. "We'll surrender. No need for us all to die here."

"Just like that?" Leslie asks, bitter and bladed.

Smith sighs. "I'll see what terms we can set."

The signal they leave out for parley is answered shortly. Within half an hour, Smith emerges from behind the barricade and walks slowly down the corridor to meet the Alliance officer standing approximately halfway between the Alliance soldiers and the Independence fighters. As he gets closer, the officer squints and his face brightens with recognition. 

"Is that you, Smith?" he asks in disbelief. "Henry Smith? From Tzu Academy?"

Smith has no idea what to say to that. It wasn't what he was expecting. "I beg your pardon," he replies after a moment. Now that he thinks about it, the man certainly looks familiar, even though he can't quite place it -- "It's been a long week, and I can't quite recall . . .?"

"Good god, man, you sat next to me for two years in Battlefield Tactics." The other man sounds both mildly affronted and wildly amused. "It's Richards, you prat!"

"Benjamin?" Smith says in astonishment. It  _ is _ Richards; he's older, obviously, and just different-looking enough in his uniform that Smith didn't recognise him right away.

"One and the same," Richards says, grin sharp. It fades after a moment. "Didn't think you were still alive in there. I kept expecting you to pull some brilliant Crazy Ivan-type gambit."

Smith shakes his head. Yes, he certainly was fond of that at the Academy -- back when they gambled with soldiers made of ones and zeroes, on ethernet. Not real lives. "Sorry to disappoint," he says as politely as he can.

Bloody nosy bastard, Richards was -- and still is, Smith sees, as Richards looks him over with sharply-knowing eyes and -- probably -- deduces the state of Smith's men and the reason he is out here. Richards wasn't always the brightest with strategy, but the man could play his opponents like no other.

"Here's what I can offer you," Richards says, before Smith can open his mouth to move the conversation around to terms. "I've medical aid and food. Your people lay down their arms and surrender and I will guarantee they see both."

"How do I know you won't execute us all on the spot afterwards?" Smith asks dryly. It's a good offer. And -- Richards's word is good, if you can ever pin him down long enough to get it.

"I swear to you I won't give the order for any summary executions," Richards promises, seriously. "I can't guarantee you will be found innocent if the Alliance decides to charge any of you with something -- but you'll all leave this place alive, fed, and with your wounds tended."

Smith sighs. "Alright," he says, and offers his hand. "Good to see you again, Richards."

"And you, Smith," Richards says, shaking it. He accepts Smith's pistol when Smith hands it over. "Bloody good timing on your part, by the way -- I was just about to offer to parley myself!"

"Oh?" Smith asks, instantly alert. "For what reason?"

"Well, we just got new orders. We were supposed to blow you up fifteen minutes ago," Richards says pleasantly. Even as Smith's mouth goes dry and he feels the faintness of horror, he sees it as Richards's expression darkens. It appears he has learnt the difference of fighting a real war, too. 


	11. (22) Companion Schofield

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tom finds out about the contract.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1\. plot-ish  
> 2\. timeline-wise: happens maybe two months after chapter 9?  
> 3\. tags: mildly dubious consent -- more an issue of others' perceptions than what's actually happening

"You're fucking my brother."

The conversation Will is having with Shepherd Jondalar grinds to a halt right about the same time that Tom slams his hands down into the table they are sitting at. Will doesn't flinch only because he has sufficient stillness in his soul that he can withstand a few shocks, though he does think fleetingly that he will need his own calming tea this evening.

"Beg pardon?" Jondalar says.

"Not you," Tom snaps.  _ "Him." _

"I beg your pardon?" Will asks politely, leaning back as unobtrusively as he can.

Tom shoves his face in front of Will's.

"You. Are. Fucking. My brother," he says, tone nearly as deadly as Smith's when he's really trying. Then he explodes and pounds the table again, enough to make the lone decorative jug in the center rattle on its plate. "What is  _ wrong _ with you?!"

"Hold on here," Jondalar says, reasonably. He reaches out placatingly, but doesn't touch Tom; his hand hovers. "I think we all need to calm down --"

"There is no calming down!" Tom shouts, and gestures wildly at Will. "I hear from  _ Leslie _ that  _ this man _ has -- this  _ whore _ has -- is! -- Is sleeping! With my brother!"

Will motions for Jondalar to stay out of it. Frankly, Will is surprised that Tom hasn't learnt before now -- the ship is a small place. No matter how stealthy Joe is, someone was bound to notice that the two of them were occupied or otherwise unlocatable at the same time sooner or later.

"I'm afraid it isn't any of your business," Will says, keeping his tone polite. He isn't in this to cause discord. Perhaps it was unreasonable to think that Tom would ask Joe about it, first.

"He's my brother! Of course it's my business!"

"He is a client --" Will tries.

"How can he be?" Tom demands. "What, has he signed a  _ contract? _ When he can hardly tell what voices he hears are real?" 

"Tom," Will says, and puts flattery into it. "Surely you've noticed how much more lucid Joe has become since you persuaded the captain to break you into the hospital on Ariel. We can only attribute that to your expertise --"

"Just because he's more lucid doesn't mean he can consent in any meaningful way!" Tom bellows back. He is almost incoherent with rage. 

Will empathises, he really does. But that doesn't stop him from downing Tom with his sedative when Tom takes a swing at him.

"Do you have to do this a lot?" Jondalar asks as though Will knocks out men and catches them before they fall every day.

"More often than you'd think," Will says, grunting a little at the weight. He plants his feet and hefts the other man over his shoulder -- Will had better take Tom to the infirmary. And he should probably notify Smith, too, before things get any uglier. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> there'll be a continuation of this at some point


	12. (23) Smith, III

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Smith is called in to mediate the dispute between the younger Blake brother and Companion Schofield.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1\. plot(ish)  
> 2\. continuation of last chapter  
> 3\. tags: mildly dubious consent -- more an issue of others' perceptions than what's actually happening, client confidentiality, issues of autonomy

Smith feels an awful headache brewing somewhere close behind his eyes. He holds up one hand to stop anyone from saying anything else and looks at their unconscious doctor, laid out on the examination chair.

"He attacked you," Smith summarizes, pointing at Schofield. "Because he is under the impression that you are taking advantage of his brother."

Schofield's mouth thins -- Smith must be dramatically oversimplifying it -- but the Companion keeps it shut. He nods.

"And you are here because this happened in front of you and you now consider yourself involved," Smith adds, turning to Shepherd Jondalar.

"I am here to see it resolved justly," the Shepherd says mildly. He nods towards the doctor. "Tom was saying that Leslie is the one who revealed this to him; it may be that there is talk amongst the crew about this."

Which could possibly lead to more conflict in the future. Smith notices that Schofield looks even unhappier, and wonders how much longer his and Leslie's arrangement is going to stand. Leslie has become almost an actual person again since those two started whatever it is they are doing; Smith does  _ not _ want to return to having a touchy, high-strung pilot whom, he suspects, would just as soon set them on a course directly into a meteor as safely around it. This is a factor that will need to be considered.

_ "Are _ you taking advantage of his brother?" Smith asks Schofield outright.

Schofield is definitely upset by this, though one could hardly tell it. His usual grace is somewhat lacking and he isn't bothering with any show of aloofness. "I have a contract with Joseph," he says neutrally. 

Smith rubs the bridge of his nose. With a Companion's contract, client privilege is obviously interfering. Since it's Schofield who is involved, of course there won't be any bending on this. Smith remembers there is a bottle of painkillers in the cupboard above the tiny infirmary sink. "Don't you feel some communication with Tom might have been . . . warranted in this case?" Smith tries, anyway.

Schofield's jaw works for a moment. "Joseph indicated otherwise at the time. If Joseph wanted his brother to know, he would have spoken to Tom about it before now."

"Because every older brother wants to tell his younger brother about his sexual proclivities, yes," Smith says flatly. "Have you missed the fact that the man is  _ not normal? _ He has brain damage!"

"Joseph seemed capable enough when he came to me and  _ asked for it." _ Schofield's expression smooths into a Companion's blankness. "We are all of us but our own selves. Our choices are ours to make and no one else's."

The doctor starts to stir in front of them while Smith and Jondalar just stare at the Companion. "He'll want water," Schofield adds, less stonily. "And some of that paracetamol you've been eyeing for the last five minutes."

Schofield doesn't move, though. It's the Shepherd and Smith who get both -- Smith for himself, Jondalar for Blake, who sits up groaning and holding his head.

"Ugh," he mutters. He stares at the water and paracetamol for a moment before swallowing the drugs and drinking the water. "What happened?"

"You surprised Companion Schofield," Smith says. "With your fist."

"I --" Smith sees it as the younger man remembers what happens. Blake's expression goes from bemused to livid within three seconds. "You," he hisses at Schofield. "Fucking do it again, you bastard, I dare you!"

"Stay seated, doctor," Smith orders, seeing him starting to get back up. "We like to talk things out like civilized folk around here."

"Civilized folk? Civilized folk don't--"

"--shout at someone and attempt to hit them before hearing the other side of the story," Smith interrupts smoothly. "Which we are going to do. And if we determine someone merits being hit, you'll get your shot."

Schofield is leaning against a counter. Normally, it is hard to see the young soldier who was Richards's second-in-command back when Smith surrendered at that fort -- Smith suspects this is deliberate. Right now, however, it is impossible to miss that military posture, couched though it is in a Companion's elegance. Smith is not sure what precisely the sticking-point for Schofield is in this case -- his word is part of it, that much is obvious, but there is something else.

"I am not going to discuss what I do with Joseph," Schofield says flatly. "That privilege is sacred within the Guild."

"Then discuss what you  _ don't _ do," Smith says with great patience before Blake can explode again. 

"And allow you to reasonably infer the truth of the matter?" Schofield replies. "No."

"I fail to see the point of all this," Blake says. He's still wincing, but he's making an extra effort to not slur. "I'm not hearing any other side of the story."

"He's doing quite a lot of not telling the other side of the story," the Shepherd agrees, frowning. "But I do not think that means there isn't one."

"No," says someone else. The voice echoes. Smith can't see where it is coming from, and neither can the others -- wait, no; Schofield is staring at the ceiling. What -- the vents?  _ Really? _ "No, it isn't that."

"Joe?" the younger Blake says blankly.

"Fuck off, Tom," Joseph says. It is difficult to tell the tone, but it sounds distinctly sour. "It was my idea." 

Blake starts to respond, indignant. From the corner of his eye, Smith sees Schofield subtly signal him -- old military signals --  _ withdraw. _ When Smith doesn't move, Schofield repeats it and nods to the Shepherd as well, by which Smith divines that the Companion can take it from here.

"Well, Shepherd, it looks like we aren't needed now that all parties are present," Smith says by way of taking his leave. "We should grant them the privacy to settle it."

The Shepherd frowns. "The issue is not yet resolved," he says.

"I have a feeling the doctor will let us know when it has been resolved," Smith tells him in an undertone as Joseph starts banging on the vent opening. "But at the moment, I think we are just making things more strained."


	13. (25) Will & Joe, III [nsfw?]

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Reclaiming one's mind means reclaiming one's body.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1\. CDTS  
> 2\. timeline-wise: takes place 5-6 months after chapter 12  
> 3\. there isn't actually sex but boy howdy don't let ur boss read this over ur shoulder  
> 4\. tags: consensual touching, non-sexual touching, body exploration, telempathy, aftercare, cuddles

Joe is -- both nervous and. And not? He can feel his heartbeat in his throat and his skin is buzzing and both of those things normally signal  _ danger _ but there isn't any danger, it's just. He is just in Will's shuttle. This isn't a space where Joe gets hurt. This is a space where Joe finds comfort.

"Stay in the moment, Joe," Will says quietly. Joe senses the faint concern that underlies the words and feels more than sees it as Will reaches out slowly to touch Joe's shoulder, in case he needs the physical tie to pull him out of his own head. Joe blinks until he sees it as well, vision clearing from the internal -- storm. In the moment. In the moment.

In the moment: Joe feels the silky softness of the sheets of the bed against his skin. In the moment: Will rests a warm hand on Joe's right shoulder. In the moment: scents of incense, not so much that it is overwhelming, but enough to cover the staleness of recycled air. In the moment: Will, lying in front of him, pale skin something creamier than the usual milk-blue in the candlelight. 

"We will go as slow as you need," Will repeats. It was what he said when they negotiated this a week ago and what he said when they started today. 

Joe would  _ like _ to go faster. Joe would like a lot of things. Joe would like -- he stops himself. Stay in the moment. He looks over Will, again.

Will doesn't move where he lies; he just watches Joe. He smiles faintly -- a real smile, not the Companion smile -- and says "I'm all yours."

Joe breathes out. Right.  _ Joe _ asked for this. Joe wants to know what is real. What bodies feel normally, when they aren't being hurt. 

He reaches out just as slow as Will did, matching that rhythm he hears in Will's head. He thinks it's Will's heartbeat. He can check? He touches Will's throat, finds the artery, counts -- yes, that is the rhythm Joe hears.

Joe keeps his touch light. He just -- skims, following the artery down to the hollow at the base of Will's throat. It's a little . . . ticklish? Joe repeats the movement, trying to pin down the exact feeling, because that's -- that's not quite it. It  _ is _ ticklish, but there's more there. Will feels like this is -- interesting. This is a very intimate touch, somehow, in -- in where it is? In the location? Throats are vulnerable --

_ In the moment. _ Will's skin is warm. He feels Joe's fingers on it (warmth) and thinks that if Joe keeps stroking his throat (amusement), Joe will find out what erotic (flash of -- something -- that makes Joe's breath hitch) is quite a bit sooner than he might have anticipated. Joe is now much more interested by that than he was several minutes ago, but -- start slow. 

Joe tries other spots. He traces Will's clavicles, the skin below those. He discovers that using the edges of his nails instead of the pads of his fingers causes them both to shiver. Joe has to stop with that quickly -- it makes Will's breathing deepen and creates a sense of anticipation that is almost unbearable in how it builds -- agitation, a sense of  _ wanting _ \-- it is pleasurable, but Joe is unused to pleasure in this way (it has been a very long time). 

Joe continues to explore without using his nails. Will is slender, but it is deceptive: there is muscle here, firm and flat. Joe feels out the contours of it beneath Will's skin, with pressure that sometimes leaves marks -- Will registers them as fleeting sparks, pain that is so swiftly come and gone that Joe doesn't even recognise what it is at first. It astounds him that pain in this context is not a bad thing.

He gets to Will's flank and discovers what ticklish  _ really _ is. Joe traces his fingers over a spot that makes Will twitch and smile. Joe does it a few times until Will is snickering and doing his best to stay still and not give Joe the wrong impression by trying to move away; and the bubbly sensation that fills Joe's skull makes him wonder how this compares to the touch from earlier.

Joe goes back to Will's throat and redraws the path he followed before. Will watches him, eyes half-lidded -- he was on the verge of dozing when Joe discovered the ticklish place and now that Joe has left off teasing that, Will is back to feeling relaxed. He is enjoying this, watching Joe explore, and so he tips his head back a little in invitation so that Joe can feel what he wants of everything. Joe thinks that if he used his nails again, here, Will would -- 

Blake, Joseph's world flips sideways. He could hurt this man, he could kill him in a dozen ways and here the Companion is baring his  _ throat, _ what is he  _ thinking _ \-- 

\-- Unshakeable certainty that Joe won't hurt him. Will hasn't noticed anything is wrong yet; he is just waiting for whatever Joe does next. Will  _ trusts _ Joe.

Joseph tries to keep his gasping quiet but he doesn't manage. He is wrapped up in the awful clashing thoughts, torn between capability to hurt and desire not to and disbelief that he is trustworthy and yearning to be so and --

\-- that's Will, touching his shoulder again. "Stay with me, Joe," Will murmurs. He telegraphs his movements, reaching out to wrap an arm around Joseph and slowly draw him in until they are pressed together and Joseph's shaking doesn't rattle his bones so badly with the way Will holds him close. His affection for Joe is so all-encompassing that Joe has no choice but to let it in, deep, all the way into the darkest corners, washing away some of the filth that accumulated there. 

"You're alright," Will reassures him. He means it. Joe can hear the certainty, the hopefulness -- Will hadn't known what to expect but this was more than he expected, somehow, Joe did alright -- "Shh, Joe -- you did well."

"Could've hurt you," Joseph mumbles. "Could've -- I could've --"

"You didn't, though," Will says. He is gently immovable on this and Joe can't possibly ignore it; he rattles harder. Will holds Joe more tightly and repeats it: "You didn't hurt me, Joe."


	14. (24) Tom

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Joseph's Contract is renegotiated.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1\. plot  
> 2\. timeline-wise: happens a day after the events of chapters 11 & 12, and several months before chapter 13.  
> 3\. tags: relationship negotiations, issues of autonomy, mildly dubious consent -- POV is someone skeptical of Joe's ability to do so

Joe is sulking. Joe is definitely sulking. Tom would feel bad about that if it weren't, of course, for the fact that it is probably from being caught out in a highly dubious situation with what is essentially an extremely respectable version of a prostitute.

But Schofield had, at last, allowed that  _ maybe, _ if Joseph was amenable, Tom could sit in on them renegotiating their contract (though he didn't say why renegotiation was necessary), and Joseph, who had been worn to the point of crying from sheer frustration (and Tom hated to see it, hated that reminder that his older brother is not the one who is taking care of  _ Tom, _ hated even more that Tom actually  _ misses _ that lack of responsibility), agreed. So Tom was determined to make the most of it.

Tom is not sure why Companion Schofield requested they do this meeting somewhere that wasn't his own shuttle. Tom wouldn't have minded doing it in the infirmary, but Joe hates being in the infirmary, and at that point in the discussion -- with the way both Schofield and Joe were still intractable about just calling off . . . whatever it is they were doing, Tom was starting to suspect that, maybe, it wasn't what he was actually thinking it was.

("It's not," Joe had muttered petulantly at that point, but Tom wasn't sure if that was addressed to his train of thought or something else. It still unnerves Tom to consider the possibility that -- maybe -- some of that surgery the government was performing might have -- well, it's impossible. It's simply not possible.)

Anyway. For whatever reason, they are sitting in Tom and Joe's bunk. While it is one of the larger bunks in the ship -- built for a family (which meant it could fit two people at most on the bed) -- it is still cramped with three sitting in it. More so when the Companion shows up with a small tea-tray and space needs to be cleared for it.

"Is the tea necessary?" Tom asks, a little worried. He thinks through the medications he's been giving Joe recently -- Tom doesn't  _ think _ any of them react poorly to caffeine, but in combination with each other  _ and _ caffeine -- he is having to be creative with his drug combinations, he can't do the chemical formulae in his head fast enough --

"There isn't any," Joe grumbles, saying it at the same time that Companion Schofield calmly says, "It's chamomile. I don't brew it strongly enough for it to have more than a mild calming effect."

Tom bites his tongue on his instinctive urge to snipe back with something. It is not unreasonable and there is thought put into it. 

No one else says anything, either. Tom blinks when he notices this and takes a closer look at the other two men. Companion Schofield is putting tiny scoops of tea into cups. He sets aside the small container and the tiny scoop and picks up the teapot. As the hot water splashes the powdered tea, a cloud of fragrant steam rises.

Joe is just as focused as if he were the one doing the work when Tom sneaks a look at his brother. With each cloud of steam, Joe breathes in when the Companion breathes in. By the third cup, Joe's shoulders have crept down from his ears and he is sitting straighter as well.

Schofield produces a tiny pitcher of -- is that cream? -- and dollops it into two of the cups. He holds it over the third and looks at Tom in question.

"Oh," Tom says, surprised. "Um, sure."

Cream distributed, sweetener is produced and doled out to both Schofield and Joe in equal amounts. This time Tom nods instead of saying anything when Schofield offers it.

After that, each cup is stirred, just enough that everything combines. Then, Schofield picks up and offers Tom his tea; then Joe; and lastly, takes his own. Tom holds onto his cup, bewildered by the ritual -- is he supposed to wait? -- and then Joe and Schofield take a sip at the precise same time. Tom hastily follows suit.

Schofield sighs a little, sounding satisfied. "I do appreciate a good cup of tea," he says. It should be loud after the few minutes of silence they've been sitting in, but the Companion manages to keep his voice low and unobtrusive.

Joe doesn't say anything. He seems caught up in the tranquility of the moment. Tom wants to say something but he frankly hasn't any idea what would be appropriate. 

Schofield isn't waiting for either of them, though. After another contemplative moment, he sets his cup down on its saucer and says "I had an idea, talking to your brother yesterday."

Tom almost chokes on his tea. He wouldn't call what happened yesterday  _ a talk. _ He opens his mouth, but Joe answers, and Tom realises that Schofield wasn't talking to him.

"About the -- management," Joe says. It sounds like he's not sure if it should be a question or not. "The damage to the amygdala." 

"Yes. Some of my Companion training included techniques for management of emotions and mental clarity." Companion Schofield pauses for a moment and takes another sip of tea. "It occurred to me that you might be interested. "

Oh.  _ Oh. _


	15. (7) Richards, III [nsfw]

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Managing relationships is hard.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1\. CDTS  
> 2\. timeline-wise: happens maybe a year before the Blakes join the crew (chapter 7); a year and a month before the events of chapters 1 & 8; at least two years after chapter 5  
> 3\. this chapter actually does contain sex yeeeee  
> 4\. tags: established relationship, arranged marriage, reunion sex, rough sex

Once the cameras blink off, Benjamin takes off the formal cap and tosses it to the side. "At least _that's_ bloody finished," he grouses.

"You did wonderfully," Lydia says.

"But at what cost?" Benjamin asks his wife, only half-joking. Six hours' worth of pre-recorded broadcasts -- enough for the next several months' worth of local Cortex news -- it is definitely a marathon endeavor. He's ready for a damn break.

"Certainly not your good looks, darling," she says with that charming Halcyon drawl. Good lord, if only she didn't prefer women -- they could really have some fun together. 

"You do need to stop flirting with me so," he tells her, offering her his arm as they get ready to leave the recording setup. "You give me terrible ideas, my dear."

Lydia takes it with a most charming dimpled smile. "Don't worry, Benjy, I've got a surprise for you," she says with (dare he say) quite the lascivious wink, patting his shoulder with her other hand. "I'm afraid I've been bribing your personal assistant for your schedule for some time now, and I asked her to make some changes for me."

"Oh?" Benjamin asks, immediately wary. He will be the first to admit that being married has brought about many changes, but he _did_ think that he and Lydia had come to an understanding of sorts -- namely that, once they had produced the requisite heir, they wouldn't bother each other about things like marital obligations. As Lydia is currently expecting, quite happy with her maid, and aware of his own general dislike of unexpected anything, he really cannot fathom what sort of surprise she would arrange for him. "Is that so?"

"It is," she says cheerfully, guiding him in the complete opposite direction of their suite. "I had the housekeeping dust out the Cottage for it; you've the weekend off, my dear."

"Lydia, I really don't like surprises," Benjamin says seriously as they approach the quietest corner of the Governor's palace. It is normally reserved for other visiting Governors, and is equipped for any visiting staff to adequately support such upper echelons. "What do you mean, I've the weekend off?"

"I mean you've got the weekend off! I had your assistant rearrange everything. In the meantime . . ." she says, trailing off with appropriate drama as they approach the entrance. She motions for the ceremonial guard to open the doors. "I contacted a friend of yours. I hope you enjoy, my dear -- and please don't come back to the main wing; I'm going to throw a party."

"All right . . . " Benjamin says with no little trepidation as she pushes him towards the door. "If you say s--"

In the open room, standing to greet him, is a man. Schofield smiles in welcome. 

"Well," Benjamin says, feeling as though the breath has been knocked out of him with his sudden and completely rational overjoyed terror. "You weren't wrong, Lydia." 

The doors behind him snick shut and he grapples for something to say to Will. Even from this distance, Benjamin can see the sharpness in that smile. Uncharacteristically, Benjamin doesn't know what to say right away. "It's good to see you again," he settles for, closing the distance between them, but that's as much as he manages normally before he adds with none of his usual finesse, "I've missed you terribly."

"I'm sure you've been too busy to miss me terribly," Will says with a Companion's serenity, which means he's angry enough to spit acid. "Being a newly-wed and all. Congratulations, by the way -- your wife is a lovely person."

Oh, yes. Will is _furious._ "Before you shout at me, can I at least kiss you?" Benjamin asks, trying for endearing.

"Of course," Will says. "Let me indulge you."

The kiss, as usual, makes Benjamin feel like his knees are turning to water. By this point in their relationship he's fairly certain that it isn't just Will's skill at it (though it is prodigious skill indeed) -- Benjamin is fairly certain he's been in love with the other man for at least a year now, and they haven't seen each other for about as long with the way Will's business has been taking him to other parts of the universe. The taste of Will alone is enough to make Benjamin temporarily go mad and the kiss lasts for rather longer than he thinks either of them anticipated.

When they break apart, Benjamin is satisfied to see that he's not the only one breathing hard. Will is still angry, but now it is fueling a deeper fire. 

"If it helps," Benjamin says, hoarse as the fingers of one of Will's hands curl possessively in Benjamin's collar and the other begins to deliberately flick the buttons of Benjamin's jacket open, "it's political -- arranged. I'd rather have you on my arm."

"I couldn't care less about you getting married," Will says, and Benjamin knows that's a lie -- Will's never really gotten over the loss of his own wife. It's part of the reason Benjamin hesitated to mention his own situation before now. "What I care about is that you didn't tell me about it."

Will kisses Benjamin again before he can reply. He swiftly finishes stripping Benjamin out of his formal jacket and starts on the shirt beneath it. Benjamin begins marshaling words for his defense even as he reciprocates by tearing at the fastenings of Will's sinfully exquisite robe -- Benjamin is sure he will be able to use them when they've managed to relieve each other of some of their frustration. 

The ensuing encounter is fast. Neither of them have the patience for anything slower after months apart, it seems, and Will ruthlessly takes charge, hell-bent on reminding Benjamin that he exists. The first time Benjamin comes, it's down Will's throat while being worked open by Will's clever fingers. The second time is roughly half an hour later, after Will lays him out on a desk and fucks into him with several bruising, biting kisses and a lot of cursing. Benjamin relishes the shock on Will's face when Will loses himself with a surprised cry -- sooner than Will presumably expected -- and Benjamin fists himself to completion with Will still buried in him. Feeling Will shake and hearing him whine from the over-stimulation is the icing on the cake. 

Benjamin is the one who initiates the kisses while they detangle from each other and the mess they've made of the 24th-century antique, overwhelmed with tenderness. "Let me take you to bed," he says in between these softer exchanges of breath. "I'd like to hold you properly."

"You're not getting out of this so easily," Will says, but he sways into Benjamin's touch and allows himself to be led elsewhere. 

"I wouldn't dream of it," Benjamin says, and kisses Will again, and again, and again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> started as one thing, turned into PWP instead #yolo
> 
> anyway then they have a rational conversation and work out their shit bc they do actually love each other very much and life and relationships are complicated
> 
> [in their slooooooooooow evolution of _friends_ to _actually married_ , you are here:  
> friends > friends with benefits > just friends again > enemies > friends > friends with benefits > **friends with benefits who maybe want something more** > sort of married > actually married]


	16. (15) Will, II

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> While William Schofield was a soldier, after he fought in the Unification War, and before he was a Companion, Will was a husband and a father.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1\. plot bg  
> 2\. timeline-wise: takes place a week before chapters 1 & 8, and about three-four weeks after the Blakes join the crew (chapter 7). If you've seen the show, this is immediately post episode 3, "Bushwhacked"  
> 3\. tragic backstory ahead eyyyyyyyyyy  
> 4\. tags: literal sleeping together, sleeping together as a form of comfort, nightmares, tragic backstory, PTSD symptoms & attempts to manage it, established relationship, long-distance relationship, Will/Benjamin 5ever

Will smelled the smoke first. It lingered still, despite the fact that the fires must have been extinguished long ago. He and the others from the little trans-town buggy bus fell silent and turned white as they drew closer to Will's town and came across the burned-out buildings and the splashed-about stains, dulled to rusty brown by time, that marked where bodies lay.

"Reavers," one of the men told the driver at the drop-off. Will had seen him once or twice before -- his father ran one of the taverns in town. "They hit us the day before yesterday. Send word to the next few settlements we need help, eh?"

"Who else survived?" Will asked. 

The man looked at him, recognised him. He shook his head. "Not enough."

Will doesn't remember how he got home. He just remembers finding himself standing in the remnants of their house, partially burnt from where the kitchen had caught fire from the stove, left on with no one attending. The bloodstains there were half-hidden by soot; the ones in his daughters' bedroom were not. 

The greatest kindness the universe granted him in the midst of this extreme injustice was that his wife's and his daughters' bodies were some of the first ones buried by the survivors, and so Will never had to look upon what was done to them. At the time, he thought it was no kindness at all -- his waking mind was all too eager to envision in what state they must have been left in the absence.

In the years after, Will's nightmares aren't what many would consider nightmares. He dreams of his wife and his girls, alive and well, going about their day. Ellie smiles at him when he comes into the kitchen and reaches out to gather her into his arms; Callie runs up to show him some insect she found in the garden; Tenny curls up in his lap to practice some new needlework stitch. Sometimes he dreams he spends a whole day with them, and then turns around to find they have all vanished when he isn't looking. He will wake still frantically searching for them. Even if he wakes up before that, though, Will has to grapple with the fact that it doesn't matter -- he lives in a world where they no longer exist besides in his memories.

Now, though, he startles awake violently, gasping. This nightmare was new and the horror of it grips him still. It takes Will a few moments to claw past the dream images of Ellie and Tenny and Callie, alive and whole, morphing into mutilated versions of themselves, just like the flayed and half-eaten corpses they'd found on that ship hit by the Reavers. Their mouths, screaming. Their plucked-out eyes. Their --

Will gropes for something, anything to distract himself. Desperate, he forces himself to take in his surroundings.

It is the middle of the night of the ship's cycle. His shuttle is dark -- he turns off the lighting cycle that mimics Persephone's day cycle when Ellis spends the night in his shuttle out of courtesy, as it would be sometime in the afternoon over there now. Ellis himself is still sound asleep on the bed next to him, for once undisturbed by his own dreams.

Will -- needs -- he's not sure. He feels uncharacteristically like weeping. Ellis is here to be soothed, not to sooth Will, and so Will does not turn to shake him awake. Instead, Will creeps out of the bed as stealthily as he can and draws the drapery around it for an additional sound-dampener.

He could make tea. The ritual would certainly help steady his hands. But he needs light for that, and that would just wake Ellis. 

Will doesn't know what to do and he hates it. He spent nearly four years learning how to let things like this go and another four doing his best to live out those teachings, but now, no matter what he tries, it is impossible to forget these images. He had never seen corpses of Reaver victims before volunteering to help lay the bodies of the slain families to rest -- the reality is far worse than anything he ever imagined. It's like coming home eight years ago afresh.

He's shivering again. Will finds a robe and pulls it tightly around himself. Maybe -- maybe if he talked to someone -- no. No one will be awake at this hour, and there's no one on board he would turn to in any case --

\-- no one on board, anyway. Will goes to the shuttle's cockpit, hidden behind some curtains.

At the rig, there is a communications setup. Will thinks they are close enough to some satellites that he can bounce the wave off of it. Well. It's more like he prays, really -- his hands are still shaking when he taps out the connection data and selects the wavelink.

For the longest moment, Will thinks it isn't going to work -- that they are too far from anything to connect. But then the screen resolves into Ben's face, familiar and dear, and Will breathes out.

"Will, what a pleasant surprise!" Ben says, but he frowns. "I can't see you at all, darling, what's going on?"

"D'you have a minute?" Will asks. He has to fight to keep his voice steady, hearing Ben like this. Will fumbles around until he finds the small overhead light and flicks it on; the curtains here fortunately block almost all light and it shouldn't disturb Ellis overly much. "Sorry. It's the middle of the night for me."

"One moment," Ben says, and signals something that Will can't quite make out. There is the sound of people moving around. Ben flicks his eyes away from the screen briefly; audibly in the background, a door closes. 

Will swallows. He must be interrupting something. He shouldn't be bothering Ben at this time -- but Will can't bring himself to close out the wave-- 

\--And then his friend looks at Will again and smiles. "For you, I've all the time in the 'verse," Ben says, voice gentle. "I've sent everyone out -- it's just us. What's wrong, love?"


	17. (29) Richards, IV

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Some certain discreet efforts weren't so discreet.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1\. movie plot initiate!  
> 2\. timeline-wise: takes place a little over a year after the events of chapter 7 (when the Blakes join Smith's crew).  
> 3\. tags: implied/expected threats of physical harm to several characters, including a child

"Well," Benjamin says, feeling cold. He is acutely aware of Lydia, sitting to one side, their daughter on her lap. "You have my attention, Operative."

"Wonderful," says the Operative, pleasantly as can be. He sips from the tea Benjamin served him a moment ago. "And lovely tea as well. Thank you, Governor Richards."

Benjamin stays quiet and thinks fast. He doesn't believe he is capable of taking this Operative in a straight fight. Benjamin is no slouch in combat -- he does practice to stay fit, and because one never knows if he or she will be challenged to a duel (or need to challenge someone) -- but this man does far more than that. 

And there is Lydia and Jenny to think of. Parliamentary Operatives have a great deal of carte blanche in how they choose to handle their missions. This man could order and see to the destruction of a planet and get little more than a slap on the wrist, if he so chose -- Benjamin has no doubt that his wife's and his daughter's lives are worth less to this man than whatever answers he believes Benjamin can offer.

Not that Benjamin is entirely powerless. He is not so unconnected that he hasn't his own contacts in Parliament -- Hepburn and Erinmore both remain in regular communication with Benjamin, though it is of course more for personal reasons than for professional reasons. While Benjamin doubts this Operative cares, it does mean that Benjamin should be -- at least partially -- too well-connected to simply be made to disappear. Of course, that doesn't preclude the possibility of an "accident" occurring . . . 

"As I mentioned, I'm investigating the disappearance of Thomas and Joseph Blake," the Operative says after a second, contemplative sip. "You have a great many connections to the two of them."

"That's surprising," Benjamin says, feigning a sort of wary confusion. "I don't believe I've ever met them."

"No, no," the Operative says, sounding briefly annoyed. "We have discovered with whom they are traveling, however, and four of them you know very well. There's Captain Henry Charles Smith, formerly a Captain in the Independent forces; you accepted his surrender at Fort Bapaume. He is now the Captain of a Firefly-class smuggling ship. With him at the time of his surrender, too, and traveling with him now, were Lawrence Butler, his current second-in-command, and Ellis Leslie, their current pilot." 

Benjamin runs through the list of truly excellent expletives he has learned throughout the years in his head, applying them all to himself. If they know about these, then --

"And, lastly, Companion William Schofield," the Operative adds, watching Benjamin closely, "formerly one Lieutenant William Schofield of Alliance forces -- your former second-in-command and current longtime lover."

Damn. Benjamin does not have to feign restlessness. He rubs his thumb along the rim of his saucer and, abruptly, says, "Lydia, I believe now would be an excellent time to show Jenny that surprise we bought her."

"Not at all," says the Operative softly.

Benjamin looks the Operative in the eye and says, "This isn't a subject fit for children, if you are bringing up such things as marital infidelity."

"She's two. She won't remember."

"You would be astounded," Benjamin says firmly. "The amount of inappropriate language she has picked up from me alone is enough to shock even a dockworker! In any case, I don't need her startling some old biddy cooing about how precious she is by dropping sordid details of my affairs."

The Operative -- twitches. "Very well," he says grudgingly, scarred eye narrowing. "She may go."

Benjamin sips his tea to cover his relief as Lydia quietly gathers Jenny and goes, sending him only a fleeting glance of concern before becoming the bored Governor's wife once more. If he plays this right -- as the witty Governor in it for himself and his -- Benjamin thinks he can pull this off. 

And if he can't -- well, the Operative shan't have any reason for tying up loose ends who do not know what is happening. At the very least, Lydia will have plausible deniability if she isn't in the room when he speaks about this.

"I suppose one can make the argument that I am indeed well-connected to the crew," Benjamin says as soon as they are gone. "You neglected to mention that I went to school with Smith, though. I confess, I know him far better than the other two -- Butler and Leslie? -- but honestly, I haven't really remained in touch. 

"As for Schofield --" Benjamin shrugs as though it is of little concern to him. "Well -- he is my lover, inasmuch as any Companion is to a client."

"Rather more than that, don't you think?" the Operative persists. "It is well-known amongst your staff that you will frequently rearrange your schedule or postpone meetings for communications with him. And he was your second-in-command during the war."

Benjamin smiles sharply and looks down as though embarrassed. "I never said I was rational about it."

"And yet you have illegally accessed highly protected government databanks in pursuit of information on the Blake brothers and passed that information on to him," the Operative says blandly.

_ Dead. _ Benjamin is so dead. "As I said," Benjamin says with a pained smile, pushing that thought to the back of his mind. He must forge on ahead and salvage what he can. "I never said I was rational about it. I believed . . . well, with his wife passed -- I made an offer -- but it turns out it was one-sided. He asked and I was foolish enough to look into it." Benjamin lets bitterness creep into his voice. "I should have known he wouldn't follow through on his promises. Something in him broke when his wife died; I don't believe he is capable of commitment anymore."

"I see," says the Operative. He sits in silence, studying Benjamin as though he can divine more of Benjamin's secrets if he stares at him long enough. 

Benjamin gently sips his tea and hides his sudden and visceral desire for Will, whom, Benjamin suspects, he shall never see again. Either Benjamin is going to be executed or this Operative will catch up with Smith and his crew and Will shall vanish alongside them in the name of Parliamentary security. 

"Well, Governor, don't fret," says the Operative genially after several long moments. It's jarring. Benjamin keeps himself from jumping with an effort. "You can redeem yourself and make up for your past mistakes."

"Really?" Benjamin asks. It is difficult to inject the appropriate amount of wary hope into his tone, but he does have to make an effort to sound contrite somehow, on the off-chance that this isn't the Operative's way of introducing that sword to Benjamin's gut. "What can I do?"

"You can make Captain Smith an offer," the Operative says, and smiles. Benjamin doesn't bother hiding his wince. "I heard there's a very important job that a certain Governor would like taken care of, discreetly."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> three guesses who the Operative is! (the first two don't count)


	18. (27) Smith, III

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Turns out, a year isn't enough to be forgotten.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1\. plot  
> 2\. timeline-wise: happens like a week before chapter 17; a year after the events of chapter 7  
> 3\. tags: mentioned past abuse/torture/conditioning

"We're set," Leslie says, coming back into the kitchen to join the rest of them. "En route to Jondalar's settlement. We'll be there in a few hours."

Smith nods sharply in acknowledgement and pins Tom in place with a stare. "You have a lot of explaining to do," Smith says, tone hard. "What is the problem with your brother? We took you landside to stand watch as we closed the deal -- not to wipe out an entire bar's worth of patrons."

"And what the bleedin' hell is up with what you said?" Cooke demands, sourly dabbing at his blackened eye. "How'd you turn 'im off like that? He just -- fell asleep!"

Tom swallows. He looks very young. Then his posture firms up and he sits tall at the table. "It was a phrase. The people who helped me and our parents get Joe out -- they taught it to me. They said I needed to use it in case -- in case something happened."

"Like what?" Rossi asks, bewildered. "What's 'something'?"

"Seems like slaughtering a bar is 'something,'" Butler mutters under his breath. 

"They didn't say," Tom says. He looks steadily at Smith but Smith can see the uncertainty in the way his mouth is set and how he fidgets slightly at the tablecloth. "But something -- a trigger, I was warned they were being implanted with mnemonic triggers -- set him off."

"What an awful thing to do," Rossi murmurs. Cooke looks at him. "What? Why would anyone want to put it in someone's brain to kill people at the drop of a hat?"

"What I'm hearing," Smith says, cutting off the inevitable spat, "is that you willingly walked onto my ship with a time bomb. Where you've stayed. For  _ over a year." _

"Point of fact," Tom says immediately. "I thought I was getting off in only three days, and he was in a cryogenic case where he was supposed to be asleep for the next six."

_ "A time bomb on this ship for over a year," _ Smith grinds out, so furious he should really step away from the table and take an hour to think about it. "A  _ time bomb _ that could have  _ gone off _ and  _ killed us all without breaking a sweat!" _

"If it helps," Companion Schofield says with his God-damned Companion tranquility, "I'm fairly certain that if he wanted us dead, we would have died several months ago."

"You'd know, I suppose," Cooke snaps. "Fuckin' 'im as you are."

Companion Schofield looks at him pleasantly. Cooke blanches.

"What we need to do is find out how they got to him," Butler interrupts. "Did someone say something to him? Was it -- an image? A, a song?"

"He was watching the CV," Cooke says, subdued. "It was a commercial? Had dancing people and an octopus in it."

There's silence at the table. Smith thinks, inanely, that well it should be so -- when animated commercials are enough to drive someone mad enough to murder a whole bar of people -- well, they weren't all innocent, that much is for certain, but still. 

"May I see him?" Tom asks quietly after a long minute goes by.

"I'd like to see Joe as well," says Schofield.

Cooke opens his mouth to comment on that. Rossi beats him to it and slaps a hand over Cooke's mouth -- good lad. Smith nods to Tom. It's only right that the boy be allowed to see his brother. He glares at Schofield until the Companion settles stiffly back in his seat. 

Leslie takes a slug of something from his flask. "Well, our best hacker is chained to the flooring," he says without preamble, "so I think you ought to go to Mr Universe to find out what the hell is going on."

"What do you mean?" Smith asks sharply. He has not missed the sight of his pilot being obviously drunk.

"If Blake Sr was watching the telly, that means someone sent him his signal through it. Mr Universe can decode it," Leslie says with a shrug. "Find out what that trigger is. Hm?"

Smith turns it over in his mind. He would like to know what they're dealing with. Joseph and Tom are both still wanted by the Alliance -- is it the government hunting them down or is it someone else? Despite logic telling him he should just get rid of the brothers at the earliest possible opportunity, Tom has been a reliable doctor -- Smith would hate to have to get rid of him. "Let's send Mr Universe a message and see what we can arrange," he decides.


	19. (28) Joe

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> FYI I posted two chapters at once. Chapter 18 was posted 7:30 PST on August 7th and this was posted like 15 mins later
> 
> 1\. CDTS  
> 2\. timeline-wise: happens a few hours after chapter 18; maybe a month after chapter 13  
> 3\. tags: PTSD symptoms & management, cuddles for comfort, telempathy, developing relationship, mentioned past abuse/torture/conditioning

Joe wakes up not knowing where he is. He thrashes, briefly, feeling something around his wrist holding him down, and hears a grunt. He freezes, terrified he's out of control and -- hurting people -- again? 

"In the moment, Joe," someone -- he thinks it's Will -- says calmly. "Where are you right now?"

In the moment -- okay. Joe lets those thoughts fall away.  _ In the moment. _ In the moment: cold grid metallic surface beneath him; he must be on the floor. Restraint on his right wrist that jangles a little when he tugs -- must be handcuffs. His left arm is free. His head is elevated, on something firm that shifts and smells a bit of incense -- Will. The air is slightly dusty, recycled -- smells a little like food -- near the kitchen. 

Joe opens his eyes.

"You alright there, Joe?" Will asks him, looking down. Joe's head is in his lap. He can feel how badly Will would like to smooth back Joe's hair and offer some other comforting gestures, but he is holding himself back in case Joe isn't ready for that at the moment.

Joe wishes he could remember how to ask for it. Will's lap is a lot nicer than the floor. It's -- it reminds him he's somewhere else. Joe's spent more than his fair share of time on metal tables, being restrained, never being touched like this --  _ in the moment. _ Joe closes his eyes and breathes again. Is he alright? 

He isn't sure. He remembers -- he remembers -- he sees what Will saw, coming back to the ship from some client appointment, barely making it before the ship left -- coming into the kitchen, seeing Tom standing and watching, looking horrified -- Cooke looking on sullenly, Rossi trying to do something about a black eye -- Smith coming out of the storage locker next to the kitchen and closing it behind him, but not before Will caught a glimpse of Joe sprawled out on the floor. Sudden fear, worry -- 

Joe jumps out of that. It brings back the memories -- there was a bar and then there was a voice -- fighting. He was fighting. No -- killing; they conditioned him in accordance with his body and he was programmed with brutality. He remembers enough. He doesn't want to remember any more, no, no, stop --

_ In the moment _ blazes through him. In the moment. In the moment. What does it mean, again? It means -- it means what is happening. What is around him, right now. What is . . . 

Cold grid metallic surface beneath him -- but he is also sitting up with his back against the wall and a weight in his lap -- no. No. What does  _ Joe _ feel. Cold grid metallic surface beneath him; he must be on the floor. Restraint on his right wrist, cutting into the skin -- there is blood, he can smell it -- jangles when he eases up, pain eases up, must be handcuffs. His left arm isn't -- isn't quite pinned -- someone is holding his wrist, moving now that Joe has stopped thrashing and slowly threading fingers together to hold his hand. He hears harsh breathing from himself and from the person in whose lap his head is -- they smell like incense -- Will --

"Shh. It's alright," Will is saying. With his free hand, he smooths Joe's hair back and rocks him, a little. "You're alright, Joe. Be in the moment. Be with me." In the back of his mind, he's wondering how he can get Tom in here to help with cleaning the mess Joe's made of his own wrist -- he and Tom have been trading off watches, waiting for Joe to wake up -- 

"I hurt them," Joe says. He squeezes back on the grip Will has on his hand and turns his head so that Will can't see his face. 

"I know," Will says. He does know. He doesn't care. It doesn't change the quiet worry he feels for Joe, nor his affection, and Joe rolls into that and hides there until Tom comes. 


	20. (30) Will, III

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Yeah, Will knows when Ben's under duress.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1\. plot  
> 2\. timeline-wise: happens a few days after chapter 17; a week and a half after chapters 18 & 19.  
> 3\. tags: gratuitous description of outfits

"I fail to see how that outfit is practical," Smith says after several minutes of tense silence.

"Do you know how many weapons I've got on me right now?" Will asks blandly, steering the spare shuttle on the more-familiar route from the docks to the Governor's Palace. It's a risk, running the shuttle this far -- from where the ship dropped un-powered into atmo, sixty miles north, all the way around to the docks south of the Palace and then back around as though they'd come from there originally -- but they should have at least avoided detection entering Persephone's flyspace. 

He can feel Smith's eyes on him, evaluating the ornate full robes of a Companion. They are an impressive outfit: many layers of stiffened silk, brocaded outer coat, the works. Will hardly ever bothers with them normally; they are intended for formal Guild rituals, but can stand in a pinch for any occasion in which formal wear is expected. He's fairly certain he's worn them to a few State funerals. Right now, they are doing an excellent job in covering the full set of body armour Smith has lent him from the ship's supply -- as well as two pistols, two knives, and some explosives, courtesy of Cooke.

"Not really, no," the Captain says, grudgingly. 

Will does feel badly for the Captain. He's only got his one very obvious pistol and a slightly less obvious knife stuck in his boot. They only barely managed to hide the body armour under his usual shirt by buttoning it all the way up, high collar and all.

"Are you sure about this?" Will asks instead. He forces himself to continue breathing smoothly, in and out. He feels obligated to ask this and offer this last out. Smith is a good man, and this is a very stupid plan.

"You'd do it anyway, with or without me," Smith replies firmly. "So I might as well come along and see what I can learn about this hunter of ours."

Will nods. There isn't any more talk as they come up on the Palace.

Will goes through the necessary rigmarole in getting permission to land -- easier than it should be, frankly; Will has managed to visit six times in the last year, but they shouldn't be that familiar with him. They dock atop the Cottage. 

The weather in Persephone is poor today; rain lashes the landing pad. A team of footmen race out with extendable, flexible coverings that will create a closed corridor, hooking the exterior to the space around the shuttle's entrance. Will and Smith wait until they retreat back into the building and give it another minute or two for any additional serving staff to disappear. The Palace staff (save for the guards) are used to deserting the Cottage entirely for the weekends in which Will's services are employed.

All of this is perfectly expected. It's irritating how well this plays into -- whomever's hands, and disquieting in how his and Benjamin's liaisons, previously a private thing, have so clearly been noted to the extent of now being exploited. 

Will folds that thought away for later consideration, tucking it away as he makes sure his robes are hanging properly and adjusting the drape as necessary. He will need his wits about him now; anger will cloud his judgement.

"Are you ready, Captain?" he asks when he is finished, calm again.

"Should I offer you my arm?" Smith asks.

"Best not," Will says. "I'd rather not irk Ben more than I already will be."

What follows is, Will judges, something most appropriately termed as a shitshow. The hunter, a Parliamentary Operative, is waiting for them, casually taking tea with Ben and Lydia and their daughter, Jennifer. It is clear the latter two are there to ensure Will's good behaviour, and from that, Will is able to deduce that Ben has managed to convince the Operative that Will is not as enamoured with Ben as Ben is with Will. After initial introductions, the Operative makes the standard offer; the Captain gives the expected response; the inevitable fight breaks out. What is most astounding is the Operative's arrogance in not calling in the soldiers he so clearly has as backup, but that just means that when, in the middle of the Operative's grand speech, Cooke's flashbang goes off, all five of them are able to make a clean getaway. 

"You should  _ not _ have come," Ben murmurs in Will's ear, hanging over his shoulder as Will throttles them over miles of forest.

"Well  _ I'm _ glad you did," Lydia says crisply. "Don't be hard on him, Benjy, he adores you. You'd have done the same." 

"Benjy?" Smith says, sounding incredulous.

"Thank you, Lydia," Will says, patting Ben affectionately even as he ignores his friend's polite glower. "Now -- you asked us to leave you at Cairne -- are you sure? There's nothing there."

"Yes. It's a transport hub. Jenny and I can get back to Halcyon safely from there . . ."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> reunion smut on the horizon 👀
> 
> (honestly I'm only including as much plot as I am bc I feel like there's a lot of ppl in this fandom who ain't seen Firefly and it's a damn shame)


	21. (32) Richards, V [nsfw]

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> REUNITED AND IT FEELS SO GOOOOOOOOOOD~ (REUNION SMUT)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1\. CDTS [VERY NSFW]  
> 2\. timeline-wise: happens several hours after chapter 20  
> 3\. tags: established relationship, reunion sex, porn with feelings, post-coital cuddles

Benjamin surveys the tiny crew bunk he's been allocated for his stay. It's Spartan, empty of any personal touches, but there's a single bed that is sunk into the wall. It appears to have clean sheets and it is looking more inviting by the moment after the strain of the last few days. 

Still, anxiety crawls under his skin. While Will had accompanied him and Smith through the necessary introductions and tour, he had excused himself to deal with something maybe an hour ago. After nearly three days of expecting to learn of Will's death, the absence grates.

Fed up, Benjamin decides to track down Will, beginning with that shuttle he rents. He is just starting up the tiny ladder when the door to his bunk opens and Will smiles down at him.

"Oh good," says Benjamin, feeling relief wash through him. His anxiety is transmuted to a hunger that he suspects has nothing to do with food. "I was just coming to look for you."

"That's funny," Will says lightly. He sees something in Benjamin's expression and the pretension is dropped; there's a slight hoarseness when he says, "I was just coming to look for _you."_

"Get down here," Benjamin growls. He reaches out to steady Will as he drops into the room. 

Will makes the most delightful punched-out noise when Benjamin pushes him up against the wall and kisses him. As an afterthought, he also hits the switch to close the door -- no need to give the rest of the crew a show.

"Isn't this where you make some quip about me having my own shuttle?" Will manages to get out when Benjamin turns his attention to sucking a line down Will's throat.

"I don't give a damn," Benjamin says, hands making short work of the loose clothing Will is wearing. He feels feverish, suddenly, now that Will is pressed up against him. This is like -- it's like the post-combat high from the war, but much, much stronger. "I thought I wasn't going to see you again, let alone touch you, so if you _don't_ mind -- mmph!"

This kiss is slow and languorous, something that steals his breath and stills his hands with how absorbing it is. Damn Will, damn him, he always gets the last nip in. 

"Shh," Will whispers against his mouth when he pulls away slightly. Behind his back, he flips the light switch to low. "We've nothing but time, now."

Benjamin recollects that he is in the process of stripping his beloved and resumes doing just that. "I'm not taking chances," he says. "I'd desperately like to have you in my bed, right at this very moment, please." 

"Well if _that's_ what you want --" and Will is laughing, he feels it beneath his hands, the way that Will shakes slightly when he's suppressing it "-- then by all means, let me help."

They kiss again and somewhere in it they manage to get most of each other's clothes off. Benjamin isn't going to last long -- the cumulative relief from escaping the Operative and seeing Will in and out of danger safely make for a heady mix when added to the taste and touch of a Will who is all too amenable to Benjamin's thinking. And Will is a bloody tease, leading Benjamin to the bunk and stretching out as though the bunk was Benjamin's bed back on Persephone, sighing into Benjamin's touch and pulling him in closer. 

Benjamin has to pull back before he loses it entirely. "I would really like to fuck you into next Tuesday," he says unsteadily to Will, who is spread out beneath him, now, "but I'm afraid I haven't the fortitude at the moment. Can we get off now and come back to that later?"

"That's a shame," Will says, hands just as greedy for Benjamin's bare skin as Benjamin's are for Will's. "I took the liberty of stretching before I came here--"

Benjamin cuts him off by testing this and finds it to be true. He very nearly comes from the images of Will's long, clever fingers, sliding into -- and the way Will arches into Benjamin's touch, tightening around _Benjamin's_ fingers -- 

"Damn it," Benjamin says, and laughs a little hysterically. "Damn it, Will, I'm not going to last--"

"It's alright," Will says, not nearly breathless enough to suit him. "In the morning, we can go again."

Benjamin whines like he's twenty and this is new. He rests his head on Will's shoulder and tries very hard not to think about anything remotely arousing for a very, very long moment. "I'll hold you to that," he says at last, strangled.

But he doesn't get started with that right away. Benjamin bats away Will's hands, certain that any further stimulation will end him. Instead, he takes Will in his mouth and strives to get Will over the edge. Benjamin utilises all of the knowledge he has about his beloved's body and, with the shaky clarity of fading adrenaline and sheer determination, he is rewarded by Will's startled cry as Will spunks first, hot and wet, spilling out across Benjamin's tongue while his body splits so sweetly around three fingers. 

Benjamin wipes his mouth with one hand as he sits up. He isn't sure how he hasn't already made a fool of himself, but he is still achingly hard. 

Will catches Benjamin's attention once more when he makes that sort of helplessly pleased noise of his. With Benjamin looking on, Will obligingly spreads his legs further in a clear invitation for Benjamin to fit himself between them. He does it without a second thought. Sliding in is like -- it's _like_ \-- 

Well, it's less than a minute before Benjamin groans and shakes, spending himself just as quickly as he expected with the way he's buried so deeply. He pants into Will's shoulder, dazed. 

Will presses kisses to his hair, his temple -- anything he can reach as Benjamin comes down from the rush. "I missed you," Will says softly after several moments of this. He turns them both to find a more comfortable position. 

Benjamin hums, a little more aware now, and ignores the discomfort of how he's dislodged in the process. "I missed you, too," he replies, stroking his thumb across Will's cheek. "Please don't scare me like that again."

"I could say the same," Will says, low. Benjamin knows it's not just the lighting that darkens Will's expression. But just like that it flickers and disappears. "I'll take it out of you tomorrow, though."

"Stay, then," Benjamin asks.

Will smiles crookedly at him. "I'm not going anywhere," he promises. "But you'd best not go leaving me, either."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My original drabble sketch for this chapter:
> 
> _The first night Benjamin is on the ship, Will shows up at his cramped bunk._
> 
> _"Don't you have your own shuttle?" Benjamin asks, swallowing as his heart speeds up. He recognises that expression._
> 
> _"That's for business," Will says hoarsely, looking Benjamin over with something akin to hunger. "This is pleasure."_
> 
> [in their slooooooooooow evolution of _friends_ to _actually married_ , you are here:  
> friends > friends with benefits > just friends again > enemies > friends > friends with benefits > friends with benefits who maybe want something more > **sort of married** > actually married]


	22. (33) Will & Ben

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The morning after.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1\. CDTS/plot  
> 2\. timeline-wise: happens immediately after chapter 21.  
> 3\. tags: established relationship, post-coital cuddles

When Will wakes, they're in a pleasant tangle again. It's not the most comfortable way to sleep but, as Will reaffirmed all throughout the night, he and Ben tended to wake at the same moments and of the same mind. He's been well-loved -- Ben was _very_ obliging twice more last night -- and so Will finds he does not care all that much about -- well -- anything, at the moment.

"Good morning," Ben murmurs. He shifts, just a little, pressing a kiss to Will's forehead, and stays there.

Will hums, slow, and drowsing again already. "G'morning," he mumbles. "Sleep well?"

"Shockingly, yes," Ben says, still quiet, but clearly amused. "There did seem to be one or two insistent disruptions, but . . ."

Will hums again, pleased. "Good," he says. "I'd hate for you to have a poor impression of our ship."

Someone knocks on the door. "Er . . . sorry to bother you, Governor," Tom calls through the door, "but, erm. Is Companion Schofield with you? We've been looking for him."

Will blinks. "Looking for me?" he mutters, sitting up. Benjamin grumbles in protest and leans back to give him room to extract himself from the bed. Will shrugs into his shirt -- it's fairly lengthy -- and opens the door as Tom starts knocking again.

"Yes, Tom?"

Tom takes one look at him and quickly averts his eyes, turning a little red. "Er. Wow. Sorry to interrupt, I'll come back --"

"What is it, Tom?" Will asks, and covers a yawn. He wonders idly how much more he can make Tom blush. "I didn't get that much sleep last night --"

"Right! Right!" Tom says hastily, still looking away. "Right. Er. It's Joe -- he woke up just a little while ago. He's not doing well and he doesn't want me to sedate him, I was wondering if maybe your tea --"

Will rubs his face, letting the levity drop. Tea -- he can do that. If there's tea, Joe might be able to get some decent sleep -- which means Will staying with him -- right. He needs to take a shower, first. "Right. Smith still hasn't let him out?"

Tom grimaces. "Of course not." He's glaring at the floor now. "Still deems him too dangerous to be on the loose."

"If Joe wanted to be out, he'd be out," Will reassures him, automatically. "How many sets of handcuffs has he gone through in his sleep?"

It doesn't reassure Tom -- probably because Tom's the one who keeps having to bandage up the results of Joe's nightmares when he either wrenches the handcuffs to pieces or rips his hands to shreds pulling them out. Will curses his own thoughtlessness.

"Give me twenty minutes," he says, gently. "I need to get some things from my shuttle, first."

"Alright," Tom says, and makes an effort not to sound miserable. "Thanks, Will."

Will closes the door again and drops back down the ladder. Benjamin has crawled out of the bed and is tugging on some clothes of his own. He doesn't look exactly awake, yet, but he's got that startled awareness that sometimes passes for it. 

"Duty calls?" he asks. 

Will shrugs apologetically and pulls on his trousers. Then, on a whim, he kisses Ben until Ben is breathless and a little cross-eyed. It's a nice look on him, Will thinks fondly. 

"It's Joe," he says. "He's . . . a client, of sorts."

"Joe -- Joseph _Blake?"_

Will nods. "He's, ah . . ." Will trails off, trying to think of how to put it. He gestures to his head. "He's got -- some sort of telepathy. Or empathy. He's not too sure what it is -- neither is his brother."

Ben clearly cannot decide what expression is most appropriate. "And . . . he is your client," he says. He strives for a neutral tone, but it's got a peculiar weight to it. Will hears the _and how are these two things related?_ as clear as if Ben had just said it out loud.

Will touches his shoulder in reassurance. "Companion training, love," he says. "Emotional management, psychological organisation. Some meditation techniques. They . . . help, sometimes."

Ben is still frowning, but it's more thoughtful, now. "Fascinating," he says, almost to himself. "Yes, I suppose that might help." His expression clears and he smiles at Will with the most incredible tenderness that Will feels himself flush. "You are a marvel, you know." 

Will gropes for something to change the subject, uncomfortable. Training in gracefully accepting compliments only goes so far with the person one actually _loves._ "You can always follow me into the shower," he suggests instead of replying.

"I could," Ben says, still thoughtfully intent, hands wandering. "Should, even. I have to . . . protect you from . . . something."

Will snorts. "That doesn't even make sense," he says, and pulls away reluctantly. "Come on, then."

They don't get more than five feet down the corridor, though, before they hear a gunshot from elsewhere. Will whips around -- that came from the direction of the kitchen. _Joe._

"He's out!" Leslie shouts. "He's out! He's making for the bridge --"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some fluff for you, @writeyourownstory!


	23. (34) Will & Ben, II

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1\. plot  
> 2\. timeline-wise: continuation of previous chapter  
> 3\. tags: threat of physical violence, that time when Benjamin met Will's other bae

Benjamin has seen Will look panicked before, but not for quite a while. Hell, even with the Operative, Will was all pleasant smiles and calm fury, right before he set a flashbang and distracted the Operative long enough for him not to notice it.

Benjamin supposes at least _this_ look of panic is short-lived. It's there and gone so briefly Benjamin would question having seen it at all, but the way worry lines faintly mar Will's Companion expression tells him he wasn't imagining it. 

"Is this 'he' your Joe?" he asks as Will changes direction and heads, presumably, towards the bridge.

"Yes," Will says, tone grim, and briefly explains the events of the last week: Joseph Blake being hit with a mnemonic trigger and being set on a killing rampage; Smith's subsequent locking him in a storage locker, pending release.

"And he's your _client?"_ Benjamin asks, a little horrified. 

Will just looks at him. Benjamin sees clearly that -- yes, Will knows the danger; yes, Will knows he's engaging in risky behaviour; and that yes, Will is going to _keep bloody doing it anyway._ Whatever this Joe Blake is like, Will cares about him a _lot._

Benjamin sighs. "Of course he's your client," he says, mournfully. "Well. I suppose if there's anyone who can help him out here, it's you." 

They're the last ones to the bridge. Leslie is there, up against the wall, hands in the air. So is Smith, who is sweating and looking down the barrel of a pistol held by a familiar young man -- the Joseph "Joe" Blake in question -- tapping away at the navigation screens.

Smith is trying to talk Blake down. "You'd better put away that gun unless you mean to pull the--" he starts, and stops, interrupted by the ominous _click_ of the gun being cocked.

"--or we can talk more," Will interjects smoothly. "Joe, what's wrong?"

"What's wrong is he's gone completely off the deep end," Leslie snaps in undertone. Blake ignores both of them, navigating through screen menus with an enviable frantic surety. This man knows how to _hack._

"Joe isn't mad," Will says calmly. "Whatever he's doing needs to be done."

"Like knocking his brother unconscious?" someone inquires behind them. Benjamin turns -- it's Smith's second-in-command, young Lawrence Butler.

Will looks like he wants to say something sarcastic but stops himself, expression odd. Blake snorts and snickers. "Is Tom alright?" Will settles for asking.

"He's fine," young Butler says sardonically. "He'll have a headache when he wakes up, that's for sure."

Blake's hand pauses at that; Benjamin wishes he had a better position and could read the man's expression better, but oh well. In any case, Blake doesn't stop moving for long and resumes his activity. With a decisive last tap that hits with more force than necessary, he lowers the gun and turns the screen to face them. "Miranda," he says, voice harsh.

There's a brief silence. 

"What's Miranda?" Smith asks, cautiously.

Blake looks frustrated. "The secret," he says. "The one they want to hide."

"They want to hide a planet?" Smith sounds skeptical. Benjamin doesn't blame him -- a planet is an awfully large thing to make people forget about.

"There's no way there can be a planet out there," young -- okay, he's not that young anymore, Benjamin has to remember it's been nearly eleven years since he met that 14-year-old -- Butler swears. "We'd have heard of it."

"I remember hearing the call for it," Leslie says slowly, watching the planet spin on the screen. "Miranda . . . there was a call for workers, to settle it, before the war. There was a family near mine -- neighbors -- who packed and left."

"I remember something like that, too," Will says, frowning. 

Benjamin shrugs when Smith shoots him a look. Benjamin was just entering the army, and his family had been well-pleased with their circumstances at the time. He doesn't recall anything about a planet named Miranda.

"Do you remember anything else?" Will asks Blake quietly.

Blake shakes his head, mouth compressing into a white line that stands out starkly against the dark stubble of his jaw. So he probably does -- it's just not something he wants to relate.

The man's eyes snap up. "No," says the older Blake, both agreeing with the thought and sounding angry about it. Benjamin grimaces. Right; the man reads minds. 

"Sorry," he says. Kind of awkward to have to apologise for one's own thought processes -- argh. Best not to think about it too hard. "Don't take it personally, I do it all the time."

"What?" Leslie asks. Benjamin looks around -- most of the rest of them are also staring at him as though he's gone daft. Do they not -- nevermind. He can ask Will later.

"This isn't too far from where we are," Will says suddenly, interrupting. "It's in the Fortis system -- that's just over that way --"

"No!" shouts Leslie, echoed by Smith and Butler. Will stops, startled into silence.

"No, no," Smith says, taking over. "This edge here --" he points it out on the map "-- this is Reaver space. This is where they . . . live. As much as anyone can call it living."

"They float out there and send out raids from there," Leslie adds, grim. "Not even the Alliance flies that far. It's totally impassable." 

Benjamin discreetly finds Will's hand and squeezes it. Will covers his lapse in breathing well, once he remembers to do it again. Benjamin doesn't need to ask who Reavers are; he's heard the stories as well as anyone and seen what they leave behind. He rather wishes he could just pull Will into his arms right now, but he doesn't think Will would appreciate it.

Will's shoulders drop just a fraction with an inaudible sigh. He subtly shifts his weight until he's leaning up against Benjamin and relaxes slightly -- and then slightly more when Benjamin lets go of his hand and wraps that arm around Will's waist instead.

"Let's stick with our plan for now," Smith says, ignoring this entirely. He's frowning thoughtfully down at the screen where Miranda is highlighted in the midst of a field of stars, behind a Reaver fleet. "We go to Haven and lie low -- get some guidance. We'll come up with a plan there."

Will pulls away when Leslie and Smith go to the helm and start bickering about a course. He approaches Blake and speaks quietly to him.

Now that things have deescalated, Benjamin is able to see that Blake is -- not doing well, it looks like. There are dark bruises under his eyes that speak to a lack of sleep and his wrists and hands are bandaged, quite a bit. He leans listlessly into Will's hand when Will grips his shoulder and nods tiredly to whatever it is Will says. 

There's certainly a sweetness about him, Benjamin judges critically. No wonder Will has adopted him. 

\--Well, he'll leave Will to his work. "Anything I can do to help?" Benjamin asks Butler politely, offering as discreet a distraction as he can manage for Will to get Blake out of here.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> THERE'S [A WILL/JOE MERMAN!AU](https://archiveofourown.org/works/25811191) YOU GUYS, HOLY SHIT!!! GO CHECK IT OUT OH. MY. GOD I LOVE IT SO MUCH ALREADY??? @writeyourownstory YOU ARE SUCH A DARLING <3 <3 <3 
> 
> RAREPAIR POWERRRRRRRRRRR


	24. (26) Joe, II

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Existing is hard. Feelings are hard. Telempathy is hard. ?????? Probably not profit!!!!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1\. I'd say CDTS except there aren't/isn't any snuggles/smut  
> 2\. timeline-wise: happens a couple weeks after chapter 13, but at least a week before chapters 18 & 19.  
> 3\. tags: pining, assessment of relationship, cuddles as comfort, telempathy, mentioned past abuse/torture/conditioning

Joe hasn't really met a lot of people since the government turned his brain into a minefield and, incidentally, gave him the ability to overhear the thoughts and memories of people around him. He's been shown off, sure. Members from Parliament, soaked in blood that no one else can see -- secrets coming out of their ears, responsible for the deaths of _millions_ \-- 

_(In the moment._ In the moment. Joe breathes: mattress beneath him, blankets over him. Person -- brother -- Tom breathing steadily, asleep -- not dreaming, next to him, a warm weight that Joe can press up against if he's cold. Recycled air. Quiet. It's very, very early in the morning.)

He hasn't met many people since he suddenly saw and heard too much. The crew aboard this ship is -- honestly -- the majority. Joe has gotten to know them quite well. But he's gotten to know Will the best, and the more he learns about him, the more Joe thinks Will is -- is --

The thing is, Will is a _mess._ In some ways, he's worse off than Joe. Joe has Tom. Joe has terrifying mind powers. Joe knows how to kill literally every person they come across and, moreover, has the ability to do so if he chooses. He doesn't. It would make the voices quieter, there'd be less of them, but it's _wrong_ and he _doesn't want to --_

(In the moment. Joe breathes: mattress beneath, blankets covering. Brother, warm, next to him. Recycled air humming as the fan kicks on.)

Will learnt how to block the -- the Loss (and Joe always feels that echo in his mind the way it does in Will's) away. It doesn't always work but he's learned how, better than Joe has. Because Will loved them, and losing them was like losing the world, and Will -- for some reason, Will just kept going. He didn't lie down --

\-- _you mustn't lie down! --_

\-- and just, give up, not the way Leslie was like when Tom and Joe first came aboard. Will hasn't given up. Will just keeps on loving people, whether or not he's loved in return. He rationalises it away with his Companion work -- tells himself that he can only be paid to care -- allows himself to recognise those encounters as _when_ he cares, and only those encounters -- but it's not true. Will has never stopped caring. 

Will cares about Smith. He thinks Smith is a Good Man, someone who didn't deserve what happened to him; someone who stands up for what is Right. Will wishes Smith had something other than a ship full of misfits to take care of. Will would like to see Smith smile more often.

Will cares about Butler. Butler isn't so friendly with Will -- he thinks Will is trouble -- but Will appreciates that Butler is around to help Smith. He thinks Butler needs to find something for himself and worries because Butler almost never smiles, not even when Rossi and Cooke manage to persuade him into having a bit of fun landside.

Will cares about Rossi and Cooke. He thinks Rossi is sweet, if a little silly, and that Cooke is a little shit. He thinks Rossi has a bit of growing up to do, still, and he worries about that, because growing up is hard. He thinks Cooke has a _lot_ of growing up to do, and while he recognises that Cooke is more than capable of defending himself, Will still hates the idea of someone so young going out to fight. 

Will cares about Leslie. Leslie doesn't insult Will so much anymore -- doesn't try to hurt so much -- is starting to care more about Will. Will thinks Leslie is doing much better and that makes him happy. 

Will cares a lot about Tom. He likes to hide it because Tom still dances around Will, wary of the relationship between Will and Joe, but Will likes that Tom loves Joe and refuses to do less than right by his brother. Will also thinks Tom has the best jokes of anyone on the ship, but he really won't tell anyone that, ever.

Will -- cares about Joe -- _possiblymorethananyoneelseonboard_ \-- Will cares about Joe a lot. Like, a lot a lot. It didn't start that way but he likes having Joe around and likes helping Joe relax and likes seeing Joe getting better. Unlike Tom, Will likes seeing Joe get better because _Joe_ wants to get better and Will is happy Joe is getting what he wants; Tom wants Joe to get better because he misses his older brother. Will doesn't miss what he's never known.

Will shouldn't care about Joe so much. It isn't safe for Will. 

Joe cares about Will, he thinks, as much as Will cares about Joe. Maybe more. Joe knows it's real, these are Joe's feelings, because Will isn't a narcissist, but. It's not safe. It's not safe. Joe should probably stop going to Will -- should stop -- should --

 _(In the moment._ In the moment. In the moment . . .)

Joe knows Will wouldn't like to hear about this. Will doesn't want people to care so much about him. He has someone already that he loves with everything he's got, whom he knows loves him in return (Joe wonders what sort of person Ben is). Will doesn't let himself think about how much he loves Joe, too, someone so much less protected than Ben or Ellie and the girls --

"Joe?" It's Tom's voice. He's sitting up next to Joe. "Joe, are you alright?"

 _In the moment. In the moment. In the moment._

"I don't know," Joe says. Everything feels -- fragmented. Sharp. How do you explain this.

Tom is distressed. He touches Joe's face. "Joe, you're crying," he says. "What's wrong?"

Joe doesn't want to answer. He _really_ doesn't want to answer. "I don't know," he says instead, because he doesn't know and he sure as hell doesn't want to think about it anymore. 

"Joe, talk to me," Tom says softly. Joe rolls over instead.

Tom doesn't leave him alone, though. Joe is and is not happy about this. But Tom just presses up close behind him, hugs him. He is wondering what's wrong. He wonders if it was the recent job Joe participated in, the one the Reavers showed up to. He wonders if it is something Will did --

"No," Joe says. "No, it's not, he's -- he's --"

Tom doesn't know what Joe is trying to say. _Nice? Helpful? Hurting you? Stupid?_

"No!"

Tom briefly thinks maybe he should see if he could get Will to come help before squashing that idea. It's the middle of the night. But maybe _Tom_ can help with the massaging, or, or --

"That's not it, Tom," Joe says. Joe is just -- tired. He doesn't want to be thinking about this anymore. It's a shame that the night is the easiest to think when everyone else is asleep and there aren't other thoughts because then it's all Joe's thoughts but then he can't sleep. The words come out of him like broken glass. "I just wish things didn't hurt so much." 

Tom understands that as Joe ending the conversation. It helps that Tom doesn't know what to say to that. So Tom just hugs him, again, and hopes that it gives Joe some comfort. 

(And it does, it _does,_ but--)

(But --)

Tom falls asleep like this. Joe does not.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ??????????????????????????????????????????????????????
> 
> Also there's [a WILL/JOE MERMAN!AU](https://archiveofourown.org/works/25811191) by @writeyourownstory and it's sO. GOOD.


	25. (39) Will & Ben & Joe [nsfw]

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1\. CDTS [NSFW]  
> 2\. timeline-wise: this happens sometime in the future? at least a year in the future  
> 3\. tags: touch-aversion, established relationship, polyamory, threesome, telempathy -- mind sex, light bondage(?), aftercare, post-coital cuddles

Joe still isn't comfortable being touched by anyone but his brother or Will. Nowadays, he can stand Ben's more affectionate gestures -- brief hugs, fingers in his hair, a hand clasped on his neck -- and only minds lying next to him if Joe thinks about it. But anyone else -- no. 

(Sometimes, he catches glimpses from the crew -- the time Butler helped hold Joe down when he had a horrible reaction to one of the drugs Tom dosed him with back when they were new to the crew, the time Smith carried Joe over one shoulder back to the ship after he went mad in the bar -- things like that. The touching isn't poorly intentioned in those memories -- often, it's the opposite -- but the memories make Joe's skin crawl nevertheless.)

Despite this broadening of his limits, Joe is certainly nowhere _near_ comfortable enough to be touched during sex. The closest it's gotten is Will helping him finish after Joe practices making Will feel pleasure, if Joe didn't follow Will at the close; and Joe honestly can't stand to practice on himself. He can't always tell if what he's feeling is real when it's just himself.

But with another person -- with other _people_ \-- things become much easier.

Ben is, according to Will, a lovely person. He isn't -- he has some nasty secrets, decisions he's made during the war and as the Governor of Persephone that have cost lives and livelihoods, decisions he's made _knowingly_ \-- but it doesn't change the fact that Benjamin Richards is, at his core, utterly devoted to those he claims as his. He would cheerfully let the 'verse burn if it would keep Will and his wife and his daughter safe and happy; he'd light it on fire himself, if it came to that. 

(Benjamin contents himself with the knowledge that people die every day and that he cannot prevent it; he can merely exercise some influence over how and where. Things like what the Academy does -- what Parliament tried to do with Miranda -- those, Benjamin does not hold with. Joe thinks he used to be idealistic enough to wish the world otherwise, but, now, Joe is only relieved that Will's beloved isn't one of the people who view power as a means of exploiting individuals the way Joe was exploited.)

Most importantly, Benjamin Richards makes Will happy. He makes Will feel happy, and safe, and loved, all in ways that Joe cannot do -- might not ever be able to do. Benjamin does not _need_ Will -- he _wants_ Will. And Will knows it.

But Joe makes Will happy, too. Nevertheless, given Joe's aversion to touch, Will wouldn't have suggested something like this -- that was Benjamin's idea, including Joe in this, initially. Now, Will doesn't question it -- just goes with it, and enjoys himself.

\--Like now. Will stretches, testing Joe's hold on his wrists. Joe feels it when Will is satisfied that Joe's hand is securely around them. Will isn't trying to break free (which he could, no doubt, do, easily) -- he just wants to know that he is limited in this way. After caring for Joe, and Leslie, and Tom, and everyone else on the crew, and all his clients -- Will craves the illusion that there is someone there to care for _him,_ that someone can carry him should he need it. Joe is happy to suffice as the restraint that binds Will to Ben's care.

(Joe finds it strangely exciting that _he_ knows this, where Benjamin did not (even if he is taking note of it now, intrigued by how wide and blown-out Will's eyes are and how much more _responsive_ Will is) and Will still doesn't quite understand why he reacts so viscerally. But then, if Joe and Benjamin are doing their job right, Will isn't precisely _thinking_ \-- so Joe just has a nice squirming feeling in his belly and a tightening low in his pelvis and he gets on with it.)

Benjamin, meanwhile, lavishes his attention on Will. He isn't perturbed by Joe's presence. He is a showman at heart, and very possessive besides; having Joe as an audience to witness how mad he can drive Will is something Benjamin is rapidly and wholeheartedly coming to embrace. Right now, that means he is whispering how very fuckable Will looks whilst he stretches Will's anus -- _hot, sweet arse_ Benjamin thinks with a peculiar flip in his stomach -- with two fingers, then three, Will's left leg hiked up over Benjamin's hip, their pricks rubbing together deliciously with every jostle.

Joe feels it all. Will, knowing that Joe finds the thoughts of the crew a constant drain on attention during the day, has decreed that any such activities happen during the night half of the ship cycle, and so they are the only three currently awake. This means that Joe has nothing to distract him from feeling the way Ben's fingers cleverly curl inside Will with certainty born of intimate familiarity, teasing him just shy of madness -- the way he can't move (he can but he _won't)_ against the restraint on his wrists -- he just has to lie there and _take it_ \--

Joe sucks in a breath, unsteady, forehead pressed to the back of Will's neck. He can taste Will's sweat on his tongue and Joe's body itches for him to do something about the ache he feels, desperate for friction. His hips hitch without his permission, stretching the fabric of his trousers tighter -- just tight enough that some of the immediate desire is alleviated.

His grip remains unchanged. Will cries out, shuddering as Ben replaces his fingers with something more substantial. Will takes the discomfort in stride; what matters to him is the knowledge that it is Ben and Ben is doubtlessly enjoying this first breaching -- though Ben does make it feel _so good._ Joe moans with him, unable to keep silent. Benjamin is encouraged, taking it as a sign that Will is truly enjoying himself -- using Joe as a bellwether -- 

Joe laughs, startled into it, amused into giddiness at the image of himself wearing a bell around his neck and leading a flock of fluffy sheep. "You're the wolf," he rasps to Benjamin. 

The next few moments are a flurry of emotion and activity. Benjamin notes the rough pitching of Joe's voice and is pleased, sparking fire that is entirely Joe's own down his spine. Will, however, senses he is no longer the center of attention and strains against Joe's hold; Joe is forced to let go of those thoughts to keep Will pinned, exertions that necessitate Joe pressing fully up against Will and remaining there. At the end of it, Benjamin is thoroughly settled deep inside of Will and Will is once again able to relax, knowing subconsciously that he is in the care of attentive lovers who, quite literally, have him trapped.

Joe is now oddly outside of himself as Benjamin slowly moves. In -- inexorable pressure filling him to the brim -- and out, leaving him empty and gasping; in -- _full_ \-- and out; and in again, arrythmically, making Will hiccough with surprise. 

Joe is caught between Benjamin's purring, satisfied pleasure and Will's helpless delight in the surrender. Somehow, their mingled ecstasy is pulling Joe free enough to be aware that he, too, is desperately hard and yearning, in a way that isn't alienating. He feels the odd stress in his throat as he whines and senses how the sounds he makes both heighten and fuel Benjamin's and Will's desire.

A rhythm is determined and upheld. The regularity isn't as exciting, but it is reliable, and Benjamin is very well-educated in Will's body. Unerringly, he has lined himself so that every time he pushes into Will he manages to stimulate the nerves buried in him, the ones that make Will (and Joe) shake when pressed, tension ratcheting them both tighter and tighter. It's astounding how Benjamin is able read Will's reactions --

\-- An image interrupts, so clear it displaces all other thought. Joe's face, as seen from over Will's shoulder: surprised into openness, caught in the moment, gasping -- rapturous, beautiful. With it comes a sense of wonder, and desire -- not to possess Joe, but to cause Joe to make that face, again and again -- a firm sense of _want,_ to see Joe so free and unguarded, so pleasured he is able to let it go -- the desire to cherish and _protect_ \-- 

Joe isn't sure what noise he makes when his body decides that _now_ is the time. He just knows that he cries out, something that wrenches at his throat. He desperately tries to keep up the grip on Will's wrists -- he does -- but the truth is, he loses track of everything for several long, long moments, and that should be more concerning to him -- losing track of time has never been a sign of anything good -- but when he regains his awareness of what is happening around him, it is to the reassuringly strong grasp of Benjamin's fingers interlaced with his own around Will's wrists and Will sobbing in their hold and Joe is hit a second time by Will's bliss with his release, and then a third by Benjamin's when he _slams_ in and shouts -- and then -- and then --

 _In the moment_ rolls sluggishly through him. _In the moment._ It's a heartbeat. _In the moment._

In the moment. 

. . . he is being held. One arm over his waist, tightening when he shifts his weight -- pulling him in against warmth, _safety._ Another arm beneath his head, cradling him close. These sensations are doubled -- Benjamin is drawing Will in as Will is winding Joe towards the both of them. 

Sensations that aren't doubled: Benjamin, satisfied with Will pressed up against him from top to toe, stretching out the extra bit to put his hand on Joe's hip. He squeezes just a little to make sure Joe notices he is welcome (and feels smugly satisfied that his trick worked). Additionally, Will's hand, tangled thickly in Joe's hair, tucking Joe's face into Will's shoulder as Will hums in reassurance and love and kisses Joe's crown. Will is dazed, but coming back to himself, and his protectiveness is his own again.

Joe -- cracks; eases. He lets it roll over him. He's still not on firm footing but this -- this -- this makes it easy to not be on firm footing --

"Shhh," Will soothes, kissing him over and over. Benjamin's hand skims up, then back down, and squeezes again. "Shhh, it's alright. We're here, Joe."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> mmmmmmm gotta love those wholesome threesomes


	26. (31) Butler

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Some of the crew are suspicious about what, precisely, the relationship between the Governor of Persephone and Companion Schofield is.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1\. CDT card games  
> 2\. timeline-wise: happens between the events of chapters 20 & 21.  
> 3\. Cooke and Rossi AWAAAAAAY  
> 4\. tags: gossip, convoy lads

"So whaddya think is up between Schofield and that Governor fellow?" Cooke asks. From the way he shoots a look at the door where Joseph is chained up, Lawrence thinks Cooke's just trying not to think too much on their resident . . . wild card.

"Dunno," Rossi says, taking the cards he's dealt and making a face. Lawrence doesn't trust it for a minute. Rossi's damn good at bluffing; usually when he looks disappointed, it's because he's gotten the mother of all hands. "Sure is somethin', though. Didn't Smith try talking him out of going for three hours?"

"Yep," Lawrence confirms. His own hand ain't too bad. "He just smiled through it all."

"Bollocks. Smith wouldn't've been convinced by just that," Cooke protests. He's looked at his cards already and Lawrence can't tell one way or another how he feels about them. 

Lawrence gives a considering look at Leslie. The pilot is the one who'd silenced Smith's arguments in the end, saying he could get them into Persephone's flyspace without being detected and that he'd already set up the course. But Leslie ain't volunteering any information, either. --Probably better he don't; Cooke'd just rag him up and down for being whipped by the beguiling Companion.

"Can't say that he was," Lawrence says instead. "Ante up, gentlemen."

Everyone tosses something in, save Rossi. He folds immediately, shaking his head when Lawrence looks to him.

"Look," Cooke says as the first card goes down on the board, "nevermind about Smith. I wanna know about the Companion. You think he and the Governor are fucking?"

Rossi smacks Cooke out of sheer reflex. Leslie snorts. Lawrence shakes his head. "No shit," he says. "He's one of Schofield's clients."

Cooke makes a sound of pure exasperation and tosses another chore slip into the pot. "Call. And not like that, you wankers, I mean like  _ relationship _ fucking. Ain't seen him hop that hard over a  _ client _ before."

"Hire him for a night and find out yourself," Leslie says crudely, raising the bet. "Maybe he'll suddenly start giving you the time of day."

"Well if  _ you _ can afford it --"

"That's if he'll even accept your bid," Lawrence adds, cutting Cooke off. No need for the merc to piss off the pilot if they can avoid it. He tosses in his own chore bet. "Hard to get excited about your ugly mug." 

"Oi! I'm prettier 'n you, arsehole!"

"Well then, you gonna match or fold?"

Pissed, Cooke throws in another chore. It turns out Leslie has the winning hand this round; he collects the pot without batting an eye.

Cooke isn't letting it go. "I mean, the Governor ain't even that  _ handsome. _ I'd've thought Schofield had  _ standards, _ y'know?"

"Why's it matter so much to you, anyhow?" Rossi asks, impatient. It's his turn to deal and he shuffles the deck expertly. "Don't see why it's any business of yours."

Lawrence, seeing Cooke's doom approaching, settles back to watch the show.

Cooke, oblivious, continues. "And yet we put  _ our _ necks on the line for that rescue mission.  _ I _ feel like  _ we _ oughta get some sorta--"

"Compensation?" Smith asks, voice hard as he walks into the room, the Governor in question following him with a parade-ready posture and an utterly blank face. Lawrence has a sudden, visceral memory of being fourteen years old, near-starving, and watching the youthful and charismatic Smith having to humble himself in No-Man's-Land before an impeccably-turned out Alliance officer. 

Then he blinks and the image is gone. Neither of them are youthful anymore, and the Governor certainly isn't impeccably-attired. Nor, it seems, welcome with the Alliance any longer.

Cooke has gone silent. Rossi winces in sympathy and tries to hide it, lest he become the next one to face the Captain's discipline. "Last I checked, Cooke, you weren't involved in that job," Smith says softly.

"Yessir," Cooke mumbles.

Smith looks at Lawrence and Leslie, both, eyebrows raised. It's his  _ and you didn't think to correct this? _ expression of disappointment. Lawrence grimaces. "Sorry, sir," he says, swallowing his distaste for Richards. "Was just getting to it, sir."

"Let me relieve you of that duty then," Smith says coolly, and Lawrence winces again. He didn't count on Smith getting all up in arms over this, too. "To answer your question, Cooke -- and for your future knowledge, Rossi -- Governor Richards was Companion Schofield's commanding officer during the Unification War. They are very old friends."

Richards's mouth twitches. "Very much so," he confirms, voice very dry. 

"Now," Smith says, clearly dismissing Cooke and everyone else as he turns back to the Governor. "This is the kitchen and where we eat our meals, usually. I know it was morning on Persephone, but we're already well into the evening cycle shipboard . . ."

Very little is said between the players until they leave. There's a good five minutes of silence after Smith leads the Governor away before Cooke mutters, "I still think they're fucking."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> not sure how much more there will be! school's starting up and I have run out of free time D: if you have any requests, PLEASE COMMENT!!! 
> 
> otherwise, stay tuned!


	27. (35) Smith, III

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Miranda's secrets are revealed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1\. plot  
> 2\. timeline-wise: this happens a few days after chapter 24.  
> 3\. lady scientist dialogue borrowed/paraphrased from the movie  
> 4\. tags: sadness and angst

Even Cooke hasn't made some asinine crack, that's how eerie this whole situation is. After trekking through an entire city of silent corpses, all of whom seemingly just lay down to die, this lone ghost -- the record of an Alliance emergency response team nearly fifteen years ago -- holds their undivided attention. All of them are dead silent, watching the holographic report.

"It's the Pax," the lady scientist says, voice shaking. "G-32 Paxilon Hydrochlorate that _we_ added to the air processors. It wasn't poisonous. It . . . well, it worked." 

She stops and struggles to contain a sob. Smith feels that he is watching a tragedy in slow-motion, like two ships colliding in space. It's only going to get worse, whatever this is.

"It was supposed to calm the population, weed out aggression," the scientist pleads. With whom is uncertain. "Make a peaceful --" she pauses and her voice hardens. "It worked. The people here stopped fighting. And then they stopped everything else. Stopped going to work, stopped breeding . . . stopped talking, stopped eating . . . There's eighty million people here and they all just let themselves die."

"Fuck," Rossi whispers, whiter than milk. He and Cooke have grabbed a hold of each other and are both rapidly looking as though they're going to puke.

Smith can't say he's surprised. He listens as the woman continues with only half an ear. But of course -- this is what the Alliance does, what they always did: meddle where they oughtn't and without so much as a 'by your leave.' It's an awful way to go.

A bang captures his attention. The woman flinches. "I haven't much time," she says, clearly terrified. She grapples to regain control of herself, taking several deep breaths before she can resume her professional tone. "In a tenth of a percent of the population, the reaction was the exact opposite. Their aggressor response increased, beyond madness. They've -- well, they've killed most of us. Not just killed -- done . . . things."

"Reavers," Leslie says at exactly the same moment Smith puts it together. The fact that Reaver territory is the strip of space between this planet and the rest of civilized space. The inhumanity of the Reavers' everything, despite clearly being of human origin. Why the Alliance never recognises the Reavers' existence, not even to support the border moons and planets. 

"They made them," Smith finishes quietly.

The scientist is crying openly now and the banging increases. She screams and pulls a weapon out, shooting at -- something -- and turns the gun on herself. Before she can pull the trigger, a man -- face scarred, hair matted, dressed in rags -- seizes her and tears into her, ripping into her skin with teeth and nails while the scientist screams and pleads. 

Smith turns off the playback mechanism. They all know how this must have ended -- no need to watch it through, he thinks automatically, not quite willing to accept this as the fact that it is.

Surprisingly, it isn't Cooke or Rossi who puke -- it's Schofield who whirls and gags and vomits, and winds up on his knees leaning with one hand against the wall, heaving in silence long after his stomach is empty. Richards hauls him up and practically carries him outside in the moment it takes for Smith to realise the Companion is sobbing. 

"Grab anything else of use," Smith says grimly after a look around to check that no one else is indisposed. He pockets the recording and follows Schofield and Richards outside. 

Smith will be the first to say he doesn't know Schofield so well as he ought to. He knows Schofield well enough to know that Schofield is a valuable addition to Smith's crew, even if he isn't, strictly speaking, part of Smith's crew -- but Smith knows that half of Leslie's paycheck is going straight into Schofield's pockets and, frankly, it's done Leslie such a world of good that Smith ought to be letting Schofield live rent-free in that shuttle of his. (It's the reason he hasn't made even a token fuss over having Richards aboard his ship.) 

He also knows that Schofield had a family once, and that Reavers had something to do with him losing them. Smith can't say he knows how much Schofield is or isn't over that -- but then, just finding out that the government you fought a war to uphold is the reason you've lost your wife and children is a hefty shock, anyhow. Schofield's like to be feeling something of that, if his reaction inside was any sign.

Smith spots them after a moment of searching. Richards has led Schofield a little ways away, into a shadowed nook; the two of them are standing with their foreheads pressed together. Schofield is holding onto Richards's shoulders like he's liable to fall right over if he lets go, swaying a bit as Richards keeps him standing, murmuring rapidly. As Smith watches, though, Schofield nods, jerkily, and seems to pull himself together. His face is like stone.

"C'mon, Joe," Smith hears Tom say behind him. Sounds like he's leading his brother out of the rescue shuttle even though, of the two of them, Joseph had seemed the steadier all through their little tour of Miranda despite his general instability and occasional paranoid twitch to check their rear. Probably the rest of the crew are following them.

Richards cups Schofield's face and leans in to kiss his forehead. Schofield droops all over again.

"Will you be able to make it back to the ship?" Smith asks, projecting it in his best officer's _this is not a request_ voice. Sometimes an interruption helps stiffen someone's spine enough to get them moving. 

It works on Schofield, who straightens automatically and meets Smith's eyes blindly. "Yes," he answers. "Are we leaving now?"

"Just about," Smith says, checking to see if anyone is missing. 

There isn't. Tom was leading Joe out, alright, with the aid of Leslie; and behind them were Cooke, Rossi, and Butler -- all of whom now look absolutely shell shocked, staring at the pair the Governor and the Companion make. 

Cooke is outright gaping at Richards and Schofield. "I told you they were fucking!" Cooke hisses in accusation, a little too loud to go unnoticed. 

Schofield -- twitches, disturbingly. He turns to stare at Cooke and there is real violence promised in it.

It's like the shipwreck of the scientist's holographic message all over again. Time seems to slow as Smith watches Schofield jerk himself free from Richards's hold, pulling the Governor's pistol at the same moment --

\-- and Joseph intersperses himself, fluidly. In a movement so fast Smith almost doubts his eyes, Joseph grips Schofield's other hand and guides it to tap back against Schofield's bare skin, using the taller man's weight and momentum against him. Schofield's eyes roll up and he falls, deftly caught and gently lowered to the ground by the elder of the Blake brothers. 

"Can't let him fall," Joseph says, tightly, almost as though he is scolding Richards. Richards, Smith sees, smoothly and unobtrusively reholsters his weapon, making it look as though he's merely reaching out to help cushion Schofield's faint.

Amazingly, no one else seems to have noticed. Rossi and Butler were shoving Cooke away from behind and are now looking back in clear amazement at how Schofield seems to have dropped in a dead faint.

"Bloody hell, is he alright?" Cooke asks, and makes as though to go check for himself. 

Tom beats him to it, already sliding in to check Schofield's pulse. He doesn't give his brother a second look, which tells Smith that he didn't catch the whole of it. "Fine," he says after a short pause. "Just out for the count. We should get him back to the ship."

"I'll help," Joseph says to Richards shortly, and bends down to sling one of Schofield's arms over his shoulder.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> right about now I'd be gearing up to write crackfic about penguins or, like, serious fic like [more of _Monstrous Made_](https://archiveofourown.org/works/25112650), but alas my five-month vacation is over and I must go to sleep TTATT


	28. (40) Will & Ben & Joe, II [nsfw]

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1\. CDTS  
> 2\. timeline-wise: happens sometime in the future after ch 25. Like maybe another few months or so?  
> 3\. tags: sex, sex, more sex, oral sex, threesome

Joe can't look away. Benjamin holds his gaze the whole way down, eyes dark with intent; the image in his mind is Joe, sprawled back, eyes wide and pupils blown with a nearly-fearful anticipation. Benjamin finds Joe simultaneously highly arousing and someone twanging his instinct to protect, a very charged mix that makes for a surge of sexual desire. Benjamin largely ignores it, though, and Joe hears a last thought -- _let's make him_ scream -- as Benjamin's lips close around the tip of him, flushed _\-- and lovely --_

All of Joe's air leaves him and he strains back, feeling his body bow in the sudden sweep of pleasure. Instead of flirting with the head -- Benjamin's usual first tactic -- Benjamin keeps going, taking most of Joe into his mouth in one smooth slide. Joe pants, head on Will's shoulder, trying to piece his thoughts back together. When Benjamin starts to bob, leveraging the suction in every way it suddenly matters, everything scatters again and Joe whimpers.

"Shh, Joe, let it go," Will murmurs in his ear. "Just feel it."

Hearing Will -- Joe is able to recollect himself a little. That's why they're doing this, after all -- only Joe is feeling things right now, at least physically. He spends a lot of time in Will's or Benjamin's heads, feeling what they feel and letting that influence his perceptions. Now is when he learns what Joe feels.

He reaches out for Will. _In the moment,_ Joe thinks, giddily. He feels Will catch both of his hands and twine them around himself -- safe, yes, Will can keep him from reacting badly _(relief)_ \-- then an echo of Will's contentment at cuddling Joe close that transmutes it from a restraint to a delirious release. Joe feels his knee bend, his heel plant, all the better for his hips to twitch and hike into the all-encompassing heat and wet and soft, seductive suction of Benjamin's (frankly sinful) mouth, where the _hell_ did he learn to suck cock like this and _how is Joe supposed to deal with it --_

It. It feels so -- God, Joe's felt these sensations in Will's head and Benjamin's head, but the -- the immediacy -- God, _God --_

\-- _God, listen to him crying._ It's not his thought but it is about him. Joe becomes acutely aware of the noises he's making: ragged gasps, suppressed groans that come out as hiccoughing sobs. He catches a glimpse of himself from another's perspective: nearly tremblng in Will's arms, head thrown back and throat exposed. _I could do this all day, just to hear it --_

Joe isn't sure which of them thinks it and he scrabbles a little for better awareness to discern that. But it feels -- it feels so _good,_ he doesn't want to think that right now --

"In the moment," Will whispers to him, and kisses Joe's neck. He licks the pulse-point and seals his lips to it and sucks.

Joe cannot contain it. He goes mad, thrashing as he cries out, sharp and guttural and dragged from him like honed spoons that scoop at his insides and leave him hollow. He feels the intensity as Benjamin swallows him down and then everything feels raw and exposed and he shakes. It's too good for him. 

Benjamin crawls up the bed after, soothing his way with gentle kisses and soft caresses that Joe feels burned into his nerves, every one, along with the way Will has threaded their fingers together and noses Joe's curls as he whispers assurances. Benjamin stretches out, presses a kiss to Joe's lips. Then he leans past Joe, filling his vision, and kisses Will deeply. The two of them settle so they are both wrapped around him.

Joe wants to ask -- _how? How is it so nice? How are you so kind?_ But he knows the answer, deep in him already: because they love him as he is. They love him and they want him and there's very little that can be done to change that.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know I'm mostly writing about these three having sex but just like for context about 90% of the time it's Will & Ben being sexy while Joe hides in the vents and then all three of them sleeping together and these threesomes are like the 10% of the rest of their time lmao


	29. (36) Benjamin

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1\. plot  
> 2\. takes place a few hours after chapter 27  
> 3\. tags: consequences
> 
> also heads-up -- all chapter titles now have a number in parentheses preceding the name. the number denotes in what order chronologically the chapter would occur if I'd written this in anything resembling meaningful order! I've been rereading all this in chronological order and wow it has been blowing my mind o.o

Smith pulls Benjamin aside after he settles Will on his own bed in his shuttle. "You're the one with Parliamentary contacts," Smith says quietly to Benjamin. "How long have they been burying this report?"

Benjamin stares at him. "How should I know?" he replies, also keeping his voice low. "They're personal contacts. They certainly wouldn't let any hint of something like _this_ drop."

"15 years," a soft voice echoes.

Benjamin frowns, looking around. The corridor is just as empty of anyone besides himself and Smith as it was a moment ago.

"It's rude to eavesdrop," Smith says crisply to the vent cover in the corridor ceiling. 

"You asked," says -- Benjamin's brain finally catches up with what's going on. It must be Joe. There can't be anyone else on this ship with that knowledge.

"You know, you can just go on in and sit with him if you'd like," Benjamin says, also addressing the vent cover. He knows it won't make any difference where Joe is if he wants to listen in, but Smith doesn't appear to know that. "You didn't have to leave."

Silence. "Didn't want to interrupt," Joe says after a moment.

Benjamin refrains from pointing out that Joe is doing just that, though he supposes Joe meant "interrupt Benjamin and Will" as opposed to Benjamin and Smith. "Go on and join him," he says instead. He knows for certain that Will would prefer Joe to be comfortably-situated as opposed to being stuffed in the cramped vents. "I hate to leave him by himself, anyway." 

There's another beat of silence. Then the vent cover clicks open and Joe pulls himself out, unfolding far more flexibly than Benjamin would have expected from someone built so powerfully. Without looking at either of them (even as he is conspicuously aware, given how stiffly his shoulders are set), Joe casually keys in the appropriate unlocking code and slips quietly into the shuttle. The door slides shut behind him.

"15 years is around when the Unification War started," Benjamin says neutrally, returning to the subject at hand. A muscle works in Smith's jaw. "No doubt they buried it to keep from inflaming public sentiment to back the cause of the Independents."

Smith stares at him, narrow-eyed and assessing. Benjamin isn't sure he likes that look. 

"Anything else you need?" he prompts when Smith says nothing. "Because if not, I was heading to the infirmary --"

"Why are you on this ship?" Smith asks abruptly. "You could have left with your wife and daughter. Instead, you followed Schofield out here."

Benjamin has the sense that this question is about to inform some decision on Smith's part, which means that Benjamin's answer had better be something Smith won't find objectionable. 

The problem is, Benjamin isn't certain what Smith wants to hear, exactly. He's not certain what the Captain is planning on doing. Back at the Shepherd's settlement, destroyed -- back where Smith came up with the insane plan to disguise the ship as a Reaver vessel -- Smith had declared he was looking for something to get them all out of this mess of being hunted down by a Parliamentary Operative. Benjamin doesn't think that the recording of a rescue and recovery team from 15 years ago will give Smith suitable leverage to free the crew, per se.

And Smith must see that, now. If Parliament has buried Miranda this long and are hunting Joseph Blake for knowing about what happened, they certainly won't hesitate to wipe out this ship and everyone on it -- particularly now that the secret is out. 

And if Benjamin wasn't to be executed before -- oh, yes. They will certainly make him disappear now. Benjamin has lost everything he's worked for over the years. All the power and prestige he has acquired . . . but he sees Smith's hand drifting to the pistol on his hip. Forcibly, Benjamin pulls himself back to addressing the problem immediately in front of him. Best to answer before he loses his life, too. 

"To be quite honest, I wasn't thinking," Benjamin replies steadily. His natural inclination is to sound self-mocking, but this isn't the time. He keeps his tone sober and serious. "I suppose -- well, I suppose I thought I'd best come along if Will was here. Since it seemed I was already compromised, I might as well go all in."

"Are you still the Alliance's man?"

Benjamin can't help but smile lopsidedly at that. "Now? They'll kill me should they ever get their hands on me again," he says. He nods to the recording. "They'll kill all of us if they get the chance."

Smith's expression flickers. So he had thought of this -- but wasn't ready to accept it, yet. Hearing Benjamin confirm what he was thinking must be a blow.

"So, no. Not so much, these days," Benjamin finishes, plainly. 

Smith nods, mastering his expression after a moment. It's the expression of a man looking down the barrel of a gun. "Then I suppose we've nothing to lose," he says.

"If you want my honest advice," Benjamin offers, "I'd get anything of value off that planet. Ditch this ship and find one that's less noticeable. And then I'd grow a beard and pick up a different accent."

Smith snorts. "That'd certainly be the most practical," he allows.

Benjamin shrugs. "Pull one of those gambits you were so fond of back at Tsu Academy and you can probably make a clean getaway," he drawls, just to see if he can plant the seed of an idea, and leaves the Captain to it. There certainly isn't any chance of a surrender with terms worth accepting, not this time. If Smith is willing to act true to the man whom Benjamin remembers, the lot of them might be able to make it through without getting killed.


	30. (37) Tom, II

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1\. plot  
> 2\. timeline-wise: happens a day or so after chapter 29  
> 3\. tags: alcohol, guilt

After a day of combing the city they're parked out of, locating and packing up everything of value they can find, the Captain called them all to the kitchen for a ship-wide meeting. He isn't there yet, and so everyone else sits in silence around the table.

Tom doesn't know what to say. He sits close to Joe, feeling queasy with guilt over it all. He's accepted for the past year that he's dead, should the Alliance ever catch up to him -- dead like their parents, tragically killed in "an accident" only a week after Tom broke Joe out of that government facility. But this is something else.

'Cause . . . well, it's not Tom's fault that the Alliance is a horribly shady government that attempts population control on a planetary scale. It's not Tom's fault -- or Joe's fault -- what the Academy did to Joe. It's not their fault what the Academy and the Alliance has been doing trying to get Joe  _ back. _

\--But it is Tom's fault that they're on Smith's ship. Tom knew on, like, a theoretical level that Smith was right, all those months ago, when Smith said that having them on board put his whole crew and Scho at risk, but -- well, Tom thought it was the sort of risk like going to prison, honestly. Perhaps it was, back at the beginning. But now? After over a year of being on the ship, there's no one who would believe Smith and Scho and the crew didn't aid or abet Tom and Joe. They're no longer guilty by association; they're just guilty. 

Sneaking a look at Joe, sitting like stone -- Tom would do it again, honestly. His older brother isn't like how he was five years ago, but Joe has come a long way from the disoriented, fearful state of a year prior. Being out here with Smith and Scho and even fucking  _ Leslie _ has helped Joe so much. Tom has no doubt that winding up here was the best possible outcome for Joe, given the circumstances.

Now, though -- Tom has the sinking feeling that it's not just his life that's forfeit, anymore. It's everyone's.

Smith shows up, finally. He takes a long look around the room. Tom looks too, wondering what Smith sees. Cooke and Rossi, both looking grim and young in a way they almost never do. Butler, who's got fire in his eyes, where normally he's as emotive as an android. Leslie, oddly cheerful, swapping a flask with -- of all people -- Scho, who himself is in plain clothing more suited to any dirtside settler than an elegant Companion. The Governor is the only one who looks remotely normal -- he's perfectly put together, looking almost bored. 

Smith takes out the recording and sets it on the table. "I mean to make this known," he says without preamble. "We're going to fly to Mr Universe's satellite and broadcast this on all frequencies, all networks -- everything the Cortex touches. The Alliance killed these people and I intend to speak on their behalf."

Tom feels butterflies kick up in his stomach; it's an absolutely insane proposition. He starts to say something and -- pauses; because . . . he closes his mouth slowly. He hasn't the right to influence this decision. They're in it because of him and Joe, after all. (And he doesn't know what to say, either.)

Oddly, no one else says anything, either, so Smith continues after the pause. "If they've kept this planet a secret for so long, they sure as hell aren't going to let us walk away with us knowing about it," he says bluntly. 

Dead silence with that. Tom swallows miserably and starts when Joe carefully curls his fingers around Tom's, taking his hand gently. He's just as stone-faced as before, but Tom can see a flicker of concern -- god, Joe is probably just as anxious. Tom needs to stop being so full of himself.

"Broadcasting it means that at least it's out there -- they'd have a hell of a lot more people to kill than us if anyone at all starts doing some digging," Smith says briskly. "We've taken in a load of cargo today that's fairly hefty. Once we're finished broadcasting we're going to ditch the ship and buy a new one. The warrant is out for a Firefly-class ship captained by Henry Charles Smith -- so we're going to set ourselves up as completely new people."

That sets up a stir. Rossi makes a wounded noise, probably because the ship is his baby. Cooke is less impressed, and only says, "Huh. Alright, then." Leslie raises his eyebrows and snorts, plainly skeptical, but doesn't say anything. Scho takes a long pull from the flask, slowly tipping his head back so that the whole table can see his throat work, managing to convey -- oh, sexy boredom, Tom supposes. Like he'd --

Tom catches sight of the Governor, who is watching with obvious appreciation. Never mind. 

Tom continues to say nothing, as does Joe. Butler staunchly says, "Always thought you'd make a good Reynolds, sir."

"A fantastic plan," the Governor comments amiably. "Couldn't have come up with better, myself."

But maybe he shouldn't have spoken. With his crisp, upper-class accent, the Governor reminds them all viscerally of what they face, now, and the mood at the table shifts to something a little darker -- uglier. Joe's knuckles turn white where he holds Tom's hand, though he isn't looking at anything in particular. 

"You're okay with this?" Butler asks quietly. Despite the low volume, his words have the sudden, charged attention of everyone in the room. "Aren't you supposed to be an Alliance Governor?"

The Governor shrugs. "Unless I turned all of you over, they'll almost certainly execute me," he says calmly. "And even then, I wouldn't have any guarantee of safety."

"And you won't risk Schofield," Smith says neutrally. It's . . . not quite a question, but it isn't quite a statement, either. Tom feels uneasy, suddenly. Doesn't Smith know the Governor the best besides Scho?

"No," the Governor says firmly. Tom believes him. Even now, the two of them are sitting just a shade too closely together -- Scho leaning just a little bit more into the Governor's orbit -- for them not to be . . . something. Remembering Scho's state of undress in the Governor's bunk a few days ago, Tom covers his flush with a hasty cough.

"Seriously?" Cooke asks, incredulous. It's clear he doesn't think much of such a guarantor of the Governor's assistance. Surprised, Tom sees an echo of that sentiment in Rossi and Butler's expressions, too, although they aren't so impulsive as to voice it. "Seriously. You won't turn us over because of  _ him?" _

For a beat, the Governor stares at Cooke with perfect polite bemusement. Then it cracks into a real smile that he flashes at Scho. 

"Never accepted his bid, did you?" he says to Scho, clearly amused.

"Turning boys into men is more of a female Companion specialty," Scho deadpans back. 

Tom can't help it -- he snorts. So does most of the rest of the table, and even Smith can't quite stifle his bark of laughter. 

"No, he won't," Scho says directly to Cooke when the laughter subsides. His voice is harsh. "Nor will I. There's too many who need to know."


	31. (38) Joe, III [nsfw]

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1\. CDTS  
> 2\. timeline-wise: takes place after chapter 30  
> 3\. tags: crying, sex, voyeurism(?), suicidal thoughts, reaffirming sex, anal sex, mind sex, telempathy (bc it's Joe), probably other things askjdlasjdlaj it's the fucking longest chapter to date and it's PORN with FEELINGS

Ever since they held off the attacking Reavers so Smith could broadcast the report across the Cortex, Will's been avoiding Joe. 

If this were a few years ago, it would hurt a lot more than it does. But, for possibly the first time since Joe's head was turned into the dumping ground for every passersby's thoughts, Joe is actually grateful for his abilities. It is these abilities that allow him to see Will's avoidance is not really anything to do with Joe at all -- more in how Joe took Will's chance to die in a way that wouldn't compromise Will's obligations, a way that would leave him with his conscience clear. 

But Will won't share that with Joe. He can't even acknowledge it in his own mind. Instead, he's avoiding Joe and so Joe is following him through the vents.

. . . mostly. Joe sighs and feels his breath bounce off the vent ceiling, maybe six inches away. The vents aren't the most comfortable places to cram himself in -- he's too large, really, to do much more than worm his way through them -- but in this case, Will's destination was fairly obvious, so Joe just settled in to wait. He can't help Will. Maybe Ben can. 

(And if he can't -- well, Joe will figure something out.)

"Will," Benjamin says, startling upright when Will opens the door and drops down the ladder without warning. He is surprised. Joe is heartened to sense that Benjamin is -- he's not quite picking up on it, yet, but Benjamin's instincts are telling him something isn't quite right. "To what do I owe the pleasure, love?"

"I'm here to check on you, of course," Will says, utterly calm. "Make sure your wounds are healing well. Tom asked me to keep an eye on you."

There's a moment of silence. Will is determined to ignore the awkwardness in it and Benjamin is still wondering what's wrong, but when Will very firmly guides Benjamin to sit back down, Benjamin submits with grace. 

Benjamin is busy puzzling out a thousand cues. Fascinated, Joe listens in. Will's expression (set), tone (brusque -- attempting evenness, relying on shortness to cover the lack of it), choice of words (Benjamin doesn't _need_ to be looked over, he's been cleared by the younger Blake), posture (highly controlled; doing his best to very carefully and decidedly _not_ be stiff, betrayed by a slight jerkiness to his movements) -- from all of these, Benjamin deduces that Will is struggling with some deep emotions and concludes that, most likely, Will isn't here to be comforting so much as to be comforted. Tamely, he allows Will to briskly strip him of his borrowed suspenders and shirt.

Joe is impressed. For someone who can't read minds, Benjamin has the nearly uncanny ability to read people almost as well as if he did. Will's been doing his best, but there's an aching void that's been torn open in him since Miranda. He's stayed clear of it so far -- but the danger they faced is gone. There's nothing taking Will's attention, anymore, and the void is demanding its due.

Benjamin is considering his options. He's never seen Will upset in quite this way before. There's possessiveness in Will's fingers as they feel out the extent of the new scars, possessiveness that reminds him of their assignation after he got married (a flash of warmth, a remembrance of the startled delight when Benjamin realised he wasn't the only one who valued their relationship as something -- greater). But that's only a part of this; there's some suppressed horror, too, a more pragmatic grief in the set of Will's mouth, an expression Benjamin hasn't seen since the war (an echo of that grief, a pang of sorting through the effects of his dead men). 

That's just what Benjamin is recognising most immediately. Now, he's noticing the way Will's breath is more and more uneven, shallow and verging on short; even more obvious is the wildness in his eyes. _He's afraid,_ Benjamin realises. 

That's what decides him. Benjamin opts for gentle. 

"Will," Joe hears him say, softly. Joe can't see it but he senses how Benjamin carefully reaches out and puts a hand on Will's hip; a touch to draw Will's attention, to show that Benjamin is there.

There's a long moment of silence before Joe hears the ragged inhale. Will's voice cracks when he speaks. "I told you not to leave me," he says. _"I told you not to leave me."_

"Oh, love," Benjamin says. Joe feels it as Will resists a little when Benjamin pulls him in, a phantom tug in his arms, but Benjamin seems to think it has less to do with any animosity Will feels and more in how Will is desperately trying to stay in control of himself; and indeed, once Benjamin has him close enough, Will gasps and breaks, finally. 

The next several minutes are the sounds of them settling into the bed, Will being nudged into it by Benjamin, who wants him to be more comfortable. Will's sobs are abruptly muffled -- Joe, in Benjamin's mind, feels how Will is clinging so tightly he's half-smothering himself in Benjamin's shoulder. 

Here, Will shakes all to pieces. Initially Joe gravitates towards Will's mind, out of habit if nothing else -- but realises quickly it's not safe. Will's thoughts are so violently incoherent they are utterly uncontrollable -- and Joe finds that it's too much like those first few months after escaping the Academy, struggling to cope with the onslaught of emotions and thoughts and experiences that _weren't Joe's_ even while trying to cope with -- with his own -- 

Joe drags himself free with an effort and sinks into Benjamin's mind instead. Even with the sympathetic ache -- Benjamin hates that he has caused this, hates seeing Will this upset -- his thoughts and emotions are much more manageable. 

For the most part, Benjamin rubs Will's back and speaks softly, a soothing stream of low chatter. It's fairly nonsensical, which is just as well -- Will certainly isn't hearing anything more than the sound of it. 

Meanwhile, in the back of his mind, Benjamin is sorting through the pieces and fitting them to this result. Joe follows his thoughts, using the processes to help sooth his rattled nerves. Benjamin is the one who identifies the pervading sense of grief so huge it threatens to crush Joe when he brushes against Will's mind. Benjamin thinks it's everything Will hasn't come to terms with, what's left over from losing his family. Will smoothed it away with Companion teachings and philosophies throughout the last eight years, but the way he buried it didn't lay it to rest, and likely what happened to Benjamin when they were holding off the Reavers exhumed it all.

_(There's a thread of memory tied here that Benjamin/Joe relives viscerally for a moment:_

_Will is in his arms, languorous, replete. There's an ache in his chest, something incomplete made whole. Will's touch is gentle, whisper-light as he traces the side of Benjamin's/Joe's face._ I'm not going anywhere, _he says,_ but you'd best not go leaving me, either.)

(Joe sucks in a breath. That's -- that's properly painful, that. These feelings are nearly as overwhelming as Will's -- an unbearable tenderness that's so sharp it cuts. But it's only one emotion and -- Joe hasn't felt this, not really, not outside of when Will helps him sleep. It's _strong,_ but his associations with it are too positive for that to be a detriment.)

Reassurance is the least Benjamin can offer. He holds Will for close to an hour as the maelstrom lessens, pressure bleeding away until Joe is startled to realise that the oppressive weight is -- well, it's not gone, but it's certainly much lighter than before. In the aftermath, they lie in the quiet, content to hold and be held. Benjamin is relieved that Will isn't so affected anymore; he strokes Will's hair and gently wipes away the mess from Will's face and kisses his forehead. 

Will sighs and submits to it for a while, but Joe feels it when Will stirs with greater awareness, emerging from the fugue of emotional exertion. He finally moves, pulling away a bit so that Benjamin can clean off his shoulder, too, and makes a startled noise and pauses.

Benjamin makes a slightly embarrassed hum and shifts back a bit. Will laughs. It's exhausted, but it's real.

"If I'd known crying was enough to get you interested . . ." Will can't come up with a way to finish that, but his amusement is plain.

"Darling, your everything is enough to get me interested," Benjamin replies in kind. Quieter, gentler -- shyly, even -- he adds, "Holding you this close -- that's especially potent, that."

There's a swell of sweetness, a finer version of the tenderness earlier. Joe hears the soft noise of kisses, the rustle of cloth. They do that for a while, the sweetness building into something with more fire, until -- 

Joe feels it keenly: this sense of sudden determination, decision. "Fuck me," Will rasps below, panting. Benjamin makes an inquisitive noise. "For God's sake -- I want you so deep in me I feel it for the rest of my life. Ben, please."

He means it as something more. Benjamin hears that and thrills with a nearly savage joy -- it takes him a few seconds to regain possession of his tongue. "Well," Benjamin says when he does. His voice is deeper, rougher. "All you've ever needed to do is ask, love."

Joe -- Joe is not prepared for what happens after that. He's been aboard the ship when Will has entertained clients before -- he's experienced some of those encounters second-hand and thought the sort of bloodless pleasure was -- well, _that_ was bearable. Joe even thought that, someday, he could work up to experiencing that sort of thing first-hand, if it was with Will. 

_This,_ though -- _this_ is agonizing. This -- deliberacy, the sense of -- reverence, in each touch, each caress. For all Will's clear desperation, neither he nor Benjamin hasten in the slightest. Joe is suddenly and piercingly aware (for the first time in a _long_ time) that he is intruding on something private, something so preciously intimate that Joe should _leave._

. . . if he could, he would. As it is, Joe is frozen in his spot in the vents. He can't tear his consciousness free with how he's drawn in so inexorably -- because even if _this_ is overwhelming, it is also so clearly the opposite of what he's been made to experience. Something in him has revived and is soaking it up. 

And -- bloody hell. Joe thought it was _Will_ with a Companion's training in sexual competency, but -- Joe has to stuff a hand in his mouth, hyper-conscious of his own erratic breathing. Joe feels pinned in place with the exquisite care Benjamin takes in slowly working Will open with his fingers and tongue until Will is twisting his hands against the bedcovers and grinding against Ben, groaning. Benjamin does his work so precisely that, when he finally settles into the business of folding Will in half and pounding into him, hard, Will's cries become high and frantic as the stretch of being split asunder dances perfectly between pain and ecstasy.

It is rough enough that it will be something he will feel for days. --And as soon as this thought crosses Will's mind, he's gone -- splashing out hot, harder than he's ever done in his _life._

\--or maybe that's just Joe. He blinks past the blindness in the vent, trembling, to find both his hands over his mouth and a hoarse shout locked in his throat, choked into silence. 

"God," he hears, slurred in the room beneath. "God -- _Will --"_

The noise Will makes sends a shiver through Joe. It has a similar effect on Benjamin, who moans. His subsequent burst of pleasure feels muted after that first shock, but it's enough to make Joe choke on his own voice again. He digs his fingers into the metal seam of the vent, desperate for anything that will tether him to the world around him.

Below, Will and Benjamin are curled close, fit around each other like puzzle pieces. This was what both of them needed. In a while, they will wake up tangled in each other and complete, secure in the knowledge that they will not be parted again by their own choices. A lifetime together.

Joe thinks about that for a long time after they fall asleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ALSO DID YOU KNOW THAT @WRITEYOUROWNSTORY'S [GEHENNA](https://archiveofourown.org/series/1776946) UPDATED????


	32. (18) Leslie, II

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Leslie has some thoughts on the Blake brothers' presence.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1\. CDTS  
> 2\. Timeline-wise: happens two months before chapter 3, two months after the Blakes join the ship.  
> 3\. tags: non-sexual intimacy, relationship negotiation, PTSD

The older Blake boy is fucking _creepy._ He unnerves Ellis, and Ellis hates that. He doesn't need some broken, blank-eyed boy haunting the corridors of Smith's ship when Ellis already has them crowding him out of his own nightmares.

"I don't know why Smith's decided to let them stay," he says to Schofield one evening. 

They're lying in the Companion's bed, Ellis's head on Schofield's shoulder. Idly, Schofield combs through Ellis's hair with the fingers of that hand. It's soothing. That plus the tea plus the dimmed lights lets Ellis relax. The opulence of the shuttle is luxury unimagined, as far as Ellis can get from reality without drugs or liquor. Altogether, it is _usually_ enough to pull Ellis out of the war that he can wall it off, block it out, and get some real sleep. 

But tonight, Ellis is too agitated. He doesn't know why, really, only that Blake has something to do with it. 

"It's fucking dangerous," Ellis says flatly, not waiting for Schofield to comment. He knows Schofield is listening. "I mean, pissing off the government -- no problem. But that brother? That boy -- whatever they did, they broke him. He isn't right."

Schofield doesn't falter -- his movements don't stop. When it's clear that Ellis has said his piece, the Companion only says, "If they broke him, he's better off not in their hands, then."

"Everyone is better off not in their hands," Ellis says bitterly and regrets it. He tries not to bring up the politics of the war -- not that Schofield has ever given any indication that it bothered him, but Schofield was Alliance then and is Alliance now, so far as Ellis knows. He hurries past it. "--but having him in _our_ hands -- that's trouble waiting to happen."

Schofield makes a noise that is definitely an agreement. Grudging, reluctant, but an agreement.

"He's odd," Schofield comments. He sighs. "He reminds me of some of the men I knew during the war."

That -- hits. Ellis feels like all the air is punched out of him, because that's it -- that's it exactly. The older Blake brother is just like the men who came out of the worst of the conflict -- the ones who went silent and still and vanished into the 'verse entirely. The way Ellis often wished he'd just given in and done.

Dimly he notes that Schofield is turning towards him, looking concerned. Ellis is more preoccupied with putting it together. "That's the worst of it," he tells Schofield, voice barely above a whisper. "It's like he's dead. He hasn't got any fight in him." All Blake does is get pulled around by his younger brother. He doesn't resist or put up a fuss or anything -- just lets himself get led around the ship, eats what he's told, doesn't fight whatever his brother doses him with. 

Ellis bets that if the younger Blake ever despaired and filled his needles with lethal doses, the older one would just sit on and let himself die. 

Schofield doesn't touch him beyond how they're already doing so. Ellis made it clear what his boundaries were, and one of those was being the only one to initiate anything. The Companion's look of concern turns to one of compassion -- compassion that has just enough regret in it that Ellis knows he is not the only one who has been unable to just give up. 

"Don't suppose you've anything to drink in here?" Ellis asks roughly. 

Schofield doesn't keep alcohol in his shuttle, or none that he's ever shown Ellis. He hears the request for what it is and slowly pulls Ellis in with the roughness of a comrade in arms helping a mate. Brusque enough that it's nothing to do with gentleness. 

"They'll be awful tonight," Ellis says quietly, meaning the nightmares. He doesn't usually feel the need to warn Schofield, but with his face hidden like this, Ellis can say things he wouldn't normally voice. "Like calls to like. There's too many dead boys following me already."


	33. (12) Butler, II

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lawrence does his goddamn job.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1\. plot(ish), CD(ish)  
> 2\. tags: ????

Lawrence finds the new doctor in the infirmary, poking through the drawers and muttering to himself whilst he stirs through the contents. Blake seems to need to be in constant motion; even now, he's flicking his fingers as he counts when he stands still. After so long on the same ship as Cooke, Lawrence knows that that much energy is bound to be trouble. Having a twitchy doctor -- well, it'd be a hell of a time to have jerky hands packing a man's guts back in.

But that's not why Lawrence is here. He clears his throat to make his presence known. Blake doesn't even startle; he just turns immediately with a look of intense awareness. He's got experience reacting calmly under pressure, then. That bodes better.

"Thought I should come by and see if there was anything we were short of by way of medical supplies," Lawrence says plainly. "In your estimation, at any rate."

Blake blinks at him and then frowns. "Are you . . . curious?" he asks, not understanding. 

"No," Lawrence says, revising his estimation of Blake's character down again. Has Blake never had to deal with managing supplies? The only people like that are the ones who have others to do it for them. "I manage the ship's inventory for Captain Smith. We ain't had a doctor ever -- we're used to making due with whatever kits we can get. Now that there's someone with experience enough to know what we're shy of, I'll make sure we get it." 

Blake's face clears and his sudden, guilty relief is palpable. "Oh, thank god," he says fervently. "Not to insult you but -- it's a pretty rudimentary setup you've got here." 

Lawrence keeps his face as neutrally bored as he can. God, this --  _ kid; _ Smith was right, this kid doesn't know anything about life for anyone who ain't fancy Core elite. What does he think this crew would know of doctoring outside of field basics? Only Smith ever had the money for an education, and it certainly wasn't for medicine.

"Well, any supplies as we're short of, you let me know," Lawrence says, clipped. 

Blake is beaming. "I'll make a list," he promises. He looks around and the smile drops a bit. "Uh . . . as soon as I find some paper, anyway."

Lawrence tries not to be too obviously irritated and points to the right drawer. The man's only been on the ship for a few days and the doctor for one; Lawrence supposes it's unrealistic to expect he'll have already been on top of things. 

Doesn't mean Lawrence won't lay a bet on the Blakes getting booted sooner rather than later.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For @yonderlight, who wanted more Tom! (Don't worry, we'll get more from his POV, too (: )


	34. (2) Richards, VI

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Being an officer just means you're there to get used to making hard decisions.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1\. plot bg  
> 2\. tags: war, war violence, discussion of possible civilian casualties, alcohol

"Sir," Sergeant Addington says, interrupting Lieutenant Schofield before he can report on the results of Benjamin's request to Alliance command that they receive more medical supplies sooner. Benjamin and Schofield both turn to the sergeant.

"We've another holdout located, sir," says Addington, needing no further permission to go on. The sergeant's report is crisp but Benjamin sees the man neglected to shave today -- though with the shadows under the man's eyes, it's equally likely he just hasn't slept since yesterday. "It's a cave system, three klicks north of here. There is substantial resistance. Do we attempt to parley?"

Parleying -- or an attempt at it -- is usually what they try first. It's been a long and bloody war and Benjamin can't begrudge the opposing forces for fighting for what they believe in, even if it's a luxury Benjamin and other professional forces are usually denied. After all, it's not like the Independents are _winning_ for all they believe they have the moral high ground on their side.

Now, Benjamin looks at the position Addington indicates on their map of the valley. There are markings dotted here and there that show where they've cleared the surrounding area of five holdouts of similar size over the last four days. All of them stood their ground and fought to the last man. 

Benjamin glances to the side and meets his Lieutenant's eyes. Lieutenant Schofield shakes his head minutely -- there is no way to fast-track the next shipment of medical supplies they need. They'll have to make do with their already-short inventory and Benjamin's men are currently down by almost a third. 

"No," Benjamin replies after a moment. "Get out the incendiary shells. We'll burn them out."

"It could be there are noncombatants in there," Sergeant Jones interjects. "We know some of the locals took shelter in the caves of this region early on in the battle."

A valid consideration. Not, however, one that Benjamin thinks he cares so much about anymore. "We've been here for seven weeks," Benjamin says calmly. "The Independents' own leaders have ordered them to lay down arms and surrender a week ago. There are no noncombatants in this valley anymore."

There's a short silence. 

"We burn them out," Benjamin says, voice final. "Retrieve the incendiary shells and outfit the guns so they don't rupture prematurely while loading. Commence attacking in two hours."

"Yes, sir," Lieutenant Schofield says, his immediate acceptance running over the opportunity for anyone to voice any objections.

By the evening, the cave system is still burning. So are two other holdouts that were identified later in the day. Benjamin watches the dull orange glow of the sticky, long-lived fire their incendiary shells produce, burning in the distance. It's bright in the encroaching night and visible even from his quarters.

"Still not sure about your orders, earlier?" Will asks quietly, handing Benjamin a drink. 

"No," Benjamin replies at the same volume. He looks at the drink and sips. It is his usual. Will is always bloody good at knowing when Benjamin needs one, and Benjamin has long since stopped enquiring about how Will manages to get the supplies. "But I'm damned tired of extending them grace that only gets ours killed when they refuse to take it."

Will grimaces and takes a sip of his own drink, looking at the flames. For a while they watch the fires together. 

When their drinks are finished, Benjamin wishes, briefly, that he could ask Will to stay with him tonight. He could use the companionship. But Will is married now, and it wouldn't be right. "Go on and get some sleep," he says to Will instead. "I haven't anything to say tonight, anyway."

Will squeezes his shoulder briefly in sympathy. Then he picks up their glasses and leaves Benjamin to his thoughts.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> in their slooooooooooow evolution of _friends_ to _actually married_ , you are here:  
> friends > friends with benefits > **just friends again** > enemies > friends > friends with benefits > friends with benefits who maybe want something more > sort of married > actually married


	35. (13) Tom, III

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's not like psychiatry is Tom's specialty, y'know.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1\. plotish, CDish  
> 2\. tags: medical procedures, autonomy, derogatory talk of sex

"Just a little pinch," Tom says, attempting to coax Joe into letting him try drawing blood again. There isn't much specialised equipment in the infirmary, but there is at least a microscope of serviceable quality, and Tom even unearthed an unused laboratory blood kit that can be used to do some basic bloodwork tests -- enough to see if there's anything unusual in Joe's. "It won't hurt more than that."

Joe leans away slightly, looking vaguely unhappy. Tom hasn't gotten much emotional response from him since Joe first woke up in the cargo hold, but this is more emotion than Joe's shown in a month, and Tom feels conflicted about ignoring any little sign -- even if it would be for Joe's own good, helping Tom try to figure out what's going on . . .

Tom steps back, giving Joe space. "Let's give it a minute," he tells his brother. "Think about it, okay?"

Tom bustles around the infirmary, trying to give the illusion of being preoccupied so that Joe can think about it without feeling like he's under scrutiny. "Saw you coming out of the Companion's shuttle again this morning," Tom hears echoing down the hall as he flips through a selection of syringes in a drawer. It's paired with footsteps and coming closer. It sounds like the speaker is the mercenary Smith has in his crew -- Cooke? Well, that lisp is a dead giveaway. "Have a good night, then, eh?"

"You could say that." The sour tone of this voice means Cooke's companion is the pilot, Leslie. In a moment, they pass in front of the infirmary entrance and Tom sees he was correct. "I tell you, when he sucks cock, he makes it real pretty. I swear he gags for it." 

"No," Cooke says, sounding gleefully fascinated. "How do you know that?"

"Well, when they sound like this . . ." Leslie makes a crude noise. Cooke laughs.

Tom grimaces. The Companion has been remarkably helpful so far, giving Tom access to his supply of standard Guild immunizations and boosters. He has also taken a turn or two keeping an eye on Joe when Tom needed to spend some time crunching through what little data he's been able to acquire on Joe's condition. It's distasteful, hearing him be demeaned by other members of the crew. Tom should say something -- but, no. He doesn't know Smith well enough to know if this sort of thing isn't part of the ship's culture -- though he had a better impression of the man . . . well, Tom can't risk his place here when Joe's so dependent on him.

"'s not what it is," Joe mumbles as the sounds fade, Leslie and Cooke turning a corner in the corridor. "Nightmares. It's to sleep."

"What?" Tom asks, startled. Joe hasn't said anything all day.

Joe looks at him. "Damned dead-eyed boy," he says clearly, bitterly, in a cadence and tone that Tom _should_ be able to place -- it is very familiar -- but it is definitely not Joe's. "I swear I see him in with the rest of them at night. Fucking nightmares . . . can never get enough sleep."

Tom tries very hard to swallow his disappointment. With the sedatives Tom's got, Joe certainly gets enough sleep. It looks like this is not one of Joe's lucid days. 

\-- Which means it is now or never for drawing blood. The drug combination for hallucinations that Tom is trying with Joe right now would interfere in the tests if it was in Joe's bloodstream, and it sounds like he needs a dose soon. "Alright Joe," Tom says, resigned. "Let's try drawing some blood. Have you thought about it?"

Joe doesn't reply. But when Tom moves closer, Joe does not move away; he holds out his arm without prompting and Tom is easily able to fill a few vials. 

Joe doesn't flinch at the needle. He also doesn't meet Tom's eyes for the rest of the day, not even after Tom gives him another dose of the anti-psychotics cocktail.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> FOR YOU, @YONDERLIGHT! more to come . . . <3


	36. (14) him

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> theresalot

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1\. CD?  
> 2\. timeline-wise: takes place concurrently with the previous chapter, aka a month after Tom and Joe joined the ship  
> 3\. tags: wow fuck formatting, sorry for the eye strain, telempathy, depersonalisation, loss of self, ow, experimental formatting, fffffff
> 
> **this chapter is best read on a computer bc virtually everything has super secret hoversubtext. just hover your mouse/cursor over the lines as you go and you too will be telempathic (maybe)**

"Just a little pinch" says Tom _god I wish we had better_ (hurt) _equipment, why can't Butler swing it faster?_ _I don't really know what I'll be able to tell about Joe. Maybe there's vitamin deficiency? Maybe they gav_ **FUCK I bet they're in that infirmary, fuck. Fucking** "it won't hurt more than that" Tom says _ c'mon Joe, work with me, come on_ ** _Hah, and so then I told him to go stuff it_** sorrywhat _it's for his own good, anything I can learn about what they did(angryangrysad)_"let's give it a minute," Tom says _if I give him space maybe he'll feel better about it_aboutwhat?(shame)sorry _ **yeah and then what did you do**_ _counting syringes why bother we've more than en_ **oh shit why does this fucking child have to ask -- no, no** "you could say that" **_oh I BET_** _cenary? Cooke, right?_ **Lie, fucking lie,** "I tell you, when he sucks cock, he makes it real pretty" **god what am I saying (disgustnausea) fuck** ohno--

"I swear he gags for it," Ellis finishes, regretting this so much, why didn't he shoot down Cooke? Stupid shit wouldn't know better anyway. And now he wouldn't be thinking about Schofield in this context, fuck. Ellis knows what would've happened if that man had been caught by some of the Independents he fought with, they sometimes made a sport of it  **fuck the things I saw --**

NOthankyouno _Schofield's been so nice, why are they talking about him like this? Arsehole, I bet you don't_ **_what, you can tell?_** "How do you know that?" **_is it like you stick your prick so far (eugh people do that?) or_** _wow, real mature_ **fuck** _just keep walking, go away now, thank you_ ** _huh, that sounds kinda like when you knife someo_** no **okay that should do it. Arsehole doesn't need to know about them** _man, can you believe (indignation) that? Going to a Companion and then talking about them like that (betrayalhurt) . . . should I go to Smith? This can't be good for the morale here if this is the kind of talk \-- no, can't risk it, can't risk Joe (angerfrustration) _

"'s not what it is," concentrate concentrate Tom, listen "nightmares. it's to sleep"

"What" says Tom _what? Been so silent all day --_

 **"Damned dead-eyed boy,"** just listen (sick, feel sick) lots of him crowds of him many hims **"I swear I see him in with the rest of them at night. Fucking nightmares . . . can never get enough sleep."**

 _(disappointmentdespair)fuck me, I can't even help him stay in the real world, what good am I? Guess it's another dose_oh _but first I really need to get that blood, c'mon Joe just let me_ "Alright Joe" Tom says "let's try drawing some blood. Have you thought about it?" ohokay (pinch) _okay, that's one . . . good, two. Let's see what I can find out . . ._ "okay, one more, it'll help you" says Tom _ dunno how much more I can give him we're running low, not that it does much good_(pinch)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> yeah see if AO3 allowed it, I'd have layered three different POVs on top of each other but since we're limited by mere mortal limits I guess we'll just do snippits mashed together and the delight that is hovertext
> 
> Joethoughts for mobile readers:  
> "why"  
> "meneither"  
> "possible"  
> "wait"  
> "itsloud"  
> "dontwantithurt"  
> "what?"  
> "nothingsgood"  
> "soloudwhy"  
> "wereinspace"  
> "ohnoloud"  
> "goaway"  
> "noplease"  
> "nonono"  
> "ohno"
> 
> "no I don't want to be you no no no NO"
> 
> "nomoreplease"  
> "please"  
> "stop"  
> "STOP"  
> "please"  
> "no"  
> "nomore"  
> "no"  
> "notgood"  
> "yes"  
> "why"  
> "oh"
> 
> "okayhere"  
> "hesnotgoodeither"
> 
> "what?"
> 
> "isthatwhatIlooklike"  
> "thatsalot"  
> "me too"  
> "havetosleep"
> 
> "wait"  
> "oh"  
> "oh, just that?"  
> "okay"  
> "oh"  
> "sorry"  
> "butyouhelp"


	37. (3) Richards, VII

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Regret comes easily.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> DEDICATED TO THE LOVELY, GLORIOUS @WRITEYOUROWNSTORY WHO LISTENED TO ME FOR _TWO HOURS_ WHILE I PLOTTED OUT THEIR EPIC ROMANCE. Babe . . . . . . . _babe._ ;A; This angst is for youuuuuuuuu <3
> 
> 1\. CD/plot?  
> 2\. timeline-wise: happens twoish+ years after chapter 34/twoish years after the end of the Unification War.  
> 3\. tags: fjcking ANGST, presumed character death, mentions of cannibalism, Reavers, alcohol, grief

Benjamin looks at the letter lying before him on the desk, ears ringing with the parting words of his contact on Lilac. It appears he has the context, now, and already he wishes he didn't.

He reaches into his drawer and pulls out the bottle of gin he keeps for persuading visitors. He hasn't anyone else coming today, except -- wait. Damn.

Benjamin hits his intercom button. "Fatma, cancel my appointments for today," he says into the receiver. "Reschedule at their convenience."

"Yes, Mr. Richards," Fatma replies after a moment. "I'll notify you of their new appointment times in one hour."

"Thank you," Benjamin tells her. He pulls out a glass, too, though it will make it abundantly clear what he's doing instead of his duties when she comes in. He'll deal with that later, though -- he desperately needs a drink right now. 

He pours himself one and takes a healthy gulp. He takes another. He doesn't even feel the burn. 

Thus fortified, he turns his attention to the letter again. The letter itself contains no real information. It is the response to his official inquiry to Deadwood's Planetary Census Bureau, the repository where information on Deadwood inhabitants is maintained, sent a week ago. 

_Deputy Governor Richards,_

_Your request for information regarding one William Schofield, formerly Lieutenant William Schofield of Alliance military, has produced two records. The first is a deed of land ownership per the Soldiers' Settlement programme, granting him ownership of a steading. The second is a bill of sale. A copy of both are enclosed for your perusal._

Benjamin had been incensed to find that the bill of sale did not, actually, have anything to do with Will. It was Will's land, but it had been sold by someone else. He had immediately sent a second message requesting information on that individual and was still waiting; Deadwood's response time was, apparently, deplorable. 

\--but it turns out he needn't have bothered. Benjamin isn't very fond of James Durnley, a former fellow captain whose ambitions were crushed with his own incompetence during the war, but the man craves attention and will do anything for a leg up. And he was the closest to Deadwood.

"Did some digging on your man, Schofield," Durnley had said to Benjamin over wave not twenty minutes ago. "I hope you weren't looking for good news, though. He's dead."

"I beg your pardon," Benjamin said after a moment, politely. Surely he'd misheard. Yes, Benjamin hadn't heard from Will in half a year -- and it's not like Benjamin had reached out, busy as he was -- but. That can't be right.

"Oh yes," Durnley said then, blithely. "His whole town was destroyed. Everyone was killed."

"What," Benjamin said.

Durnley was too caught up in his information to notice Benjamin's shock. He had leaned into the wave, then, looming bug-eyed and idiotic in the view. He lowered his voice and said, "Reports _on_ Deadwood -- not Alliance reports, of course -- claim it was Reavers. Some of them were eaten alive, I hear."

"Dreadful," Benjamin managed to say then. "I see." 

"Anyway, I found someone who survived," Durnley said, oblivious. "She only survived by hiding in -- a cellar? Listened to her whole family being murdered. Anyway, she helped bury the Schofields. Said there weren't much left of them, the bodies were in horrid condition --" 

"Thank you," Benjamin had interrupted, oddly numb. "That's enough. Thank you." And then he'd cut the wave and turned off his desk.

It fits. God, but it fits. No wonder someone else's name is on the bill of sale -- as property granted through the Soldiers' Settlement, it would have reverted to the local Alliance deputy. That must be whose name it is on the bill.

Well.

Now, here Benjamin was. Sitting. 

In the same place he'd likely been sitting in whilst --

\-- _were eaten alive, I hear --_

(Benjamin drains his glass and pours more.)

It's not as though Benjamin is a stranger to friends dying. Maybe it's just that it's so unexpected. Will had a wife -- he had two daughters, Benjamin saw _photos_ of them --

\-- _horrid condition_ \--

He drains the rest of his glass (again) and pours himself another. This, too, he drinks, mind bouncing idiotically between Durnley's words, the contents of the letter, and, seemingly, everything Will ever said to Benjamin during their time in the Army. It's fucking endless.

"God," he whispers to himself, tipping the bottle again, but he hesitates to drink. It'll be his fourth. 

_Fourth for the dead . . ._

He hits the intercom again. "Fatma," Benjamin says without waiting for her to speak, "Don't worry about the appointments today. Just have it on my desk tomorrow morning, please."

"I -- yes, Mr Richards," she says. Clearly she is wondering if she should check on him. "I have them right here, now, though --"

"Tomorrow, thank you."

". . . yes, sir."

Benjamin gets up and locks the door to his office. He doesn't want to be interrupted. As he goes back to his desk he undoes the fastenings of his tunic around his throat and loosens his collar. Then, he sits and pulls out a second glass. He pours out a measure into it and sets it at the other end of his desk, where Will would doubtless have sat if he'd ever come by to visit -- if Benjamin had ever offered more than a token invitation.

Benjamin taps his glass to Will's, but can't find the words when he tries. Nothing suits -- this.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ~~hahaha and then when Benjamin finds out Will's still alive? ohhhhhhh boy~~


	38. (4) Will, IV

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> So . . . how would you feel if you ran into your former best friend just when you were starting to get the hang of forgetting who you used to be?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1\. plottish  
> 2\. timeline-wise: takes place abouuuuuuuuut two+ years after the previous chapter, a little over four years since the end of the war, and about 6 years before the Blakes join Smith's ship.  
> 3\. tags: people having to sort out their shit like mature adults, which means calculating the consequences and choosing what risks to take. also, anxiety like whoa, alcohol, and REALLY PISSED OFF FRIENDS

Will is able to keep his face in the appropriate expression, one of polite attentiveness, all the way through the varying offices and checkpoints. Security for the deputy governor is tight, for obvious reasons, but he emerges from it all unscathed and with the bottle of Ben's favorite gin unmolested beyond some serious-looking scanning equipment. 

Ben's executive secretary is polite and professional. She listens attentively as Will gives his name -- not actually his name, but the one he set up the meeting with -- and courteously offers him a seat while she lets Deputy Governor Richards know that his next appointment is here. As Will is nearly ten minutes early, he accepts the tea one of the assistant secretaries is shooed over to offer him. He takes the opportunity to surreptitiously swallow one of the tiny pills Francois provided -- good for an hour at least, Will has found, to muffle the overwhelming anxiety. Then he sits meditatively and centers himself around the heat of the fine ceramic cup in his hands, using the steam to anchor his breathing while the drug kicks in.

He is here for one reason, he reminds himself, and one reason only: to fight for his own peace of mind. It was a terrible shock running into Ben at the banquet. Worse, it was equally horrible for the person Will once counted among his closest friends. 

So, to win back that inner tranquility he's fought so hard to attain -- Will must resolve things with Ben. It's that or spend the remainder of his life (and he has a remainder of his life -- no, don't think about the enormity of that --) looking over his shoulder, waiting for this same hammer blow to come. 

And besides -- Will has done him a great wrong. As Will's mentor observed, Ben would never have reacted so passionately without being prompted by a depth of feeling too great to control. Ben was deeply hurt by Will's disappearance -- heard reports that Will was dead, even -- and his reaction at the banquet, when he saw Will with his own eyes, is entirely understandable within that context.

(That Will has been on the verge of faintness since running into Ben is just another hurdle to overcome. The reminder of -- of life before everything --) 

_ Feel the heat in your hands. Breathe in the steam. Feel your body expand with the air and let yourself loosen with the warmth in your lungs. _

(--Oh thank God, the drug is starting to take effect.)

"Deputy Governor Richards will see you now, Mr MacKay," the executive secretary says politely, calling his attention back to the present.

Will is centered. He nods politely and sets the cup aside, makes sure he's still got the bottle, and floats to the door. 

Ben isn't looking at the door when he comes in. He's scribbling a last something as he stands up, saying "Come in, MacKay," and would likely have said more if he hadn't looked up then and recognised that it was William Schofield, former Lieutenant, now Companion in training -- not an unknown individual representing a wealthy and private business. 

"Captain," Will says, ignoring Ben's reaction. He's got one shot at this. He walks over to the desk and does not feel any of the trembling that would betray his less-than-confident poise. 

Ben sinks back into his seat, both hands flattened on his desk. He looks like he cannot decide if he wants to shoot Will or throttle him -- an encouraging sign. Ben being visibly less than jovial is a Ben who is scrambling to adjust. As Will comes closer, his former captain very slowly leans back, covering his mouth with one hand to hide his expression. His other arm folds itself across his chest and there Ben sits, struggling to gain control of his absolute -- well, Will isn't that adept at reading expressions yet, but anger is a very large part of whatever Ben is feeling at the moment.

Will sets the bottle on the desk, angling it with feigned carelessness -- the label faces just far enough around that Ben should be able to see and recognise it, but still have the exact brand remain tantalizingly undetermined. It's a technique to catch and hold the attention of perceptive clients, and Ben was ever the master of reading others.

"Where's your liquor service these days?" Will asks, affecting supreme diffidence. He also utterly ignores the lovely crystal service set out as a display on a low table near the bookcase.

Ben's jaw works beneath his hand and the heat of his stare doubles. He says nothing.

"Still in your bottom right-hand drawer, then," Will answers himself, and makes himself free with Ben's things. Ben stiffens to a dangerous stillness as Will stands next to him and leans down to retrieve a pair of glasses from the drawer (a more modest, utilitarian pair -- this is what Ben uses to drink with someone else who works here, anyone with whom Ben feels personally close enough to not feel the need to factor in presentation). Using those and the bottle of soda displayed with the fancy crystal, Will is able to produce Ben's exact favorite drink in only a moment. He pours a duplicate for himself and, finally, sits uninvited in the chair that is clearly for visitors.

Ben's expression is still mostly hidden due to the hand. Even so, looking at him afresh, with nearly a week's distance from when they literally bumped into each other and Ben shouted at him in incandescent fury -- Will can see the markings of overwork and tiredness that usually indicate personal turmoil, such as grief. Though Will is now sitting still, staring back, Ben is evaluating him intently. His eyes are the only thing moving as he doubtlessly notes the minutest details of Will's appearance. 

Will sips his drink and does his best to ignore his anxiety, which is mounting again despite the drugs and, now, the alcohol. He needs to wait. If Will has played his cards right, Ben won't be able to resist at least hearing Will out -- the man is insatiably curious, an incurable gossip. The drama of a comrade thought dead, only to turn up as a  _ Companion _ \-- he'd never be able to live with himself if he booted Will from his office right now.

\--Will is almost astonished by how clearly he remembers these things. It's not as though he has thought of Ben much over the past two years. Will hasn't thought much of anyone -- anything -- from before the last two years, too desperate to forget. 

He certainly hadn't thought of the consequences that selfishness might have. (And it is only now that he can admit it was selfishness.) (Even if it possibly kept him sane.) 

Just when Will is starting to think he can't stand it anymore -- 

Ben closes his eyes and breathes out, deeply. He pulls the hand from his face and reaches out to take the drink instead. "Fuck you, Will," Ben says quietly (and with no small amount of savagery). He knocks back half the drink in one go and sits up. "Where the  _ fuck _ have you been?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> part 2/continuation coming soooooooooooon


	39. (5) Richards, VIII

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> when your best friend/former casual bae fucKING RETURNS FROM THE DEAD

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1\. CD  
> 2\. timeline-wise: direct continuation of chapter 38  
> 3\. tags: alcohol, anxiety, analysis of one's companions

Schofield -- and it's Schofield, not Will -- remains seated comfortably. It's a very good approximation of a relaxed sprawl. 

Benjamin . . . almost thinks he's gotten the measure of  _ this _ Schofield, at two years' remove from his seeming death. This Schofield is familiar. He walks into Benjamin's office and makes free of Benjamin's things with a familiarity that speaks to the ease of long acquaintance. This is precisely how Lieutenant Schofield would have behaved, were Benjamin still Captain Richards. Were this four years ago, Benjamin would know where he stood with this man. 

But this isn't four years ago. It is a little more than two years past the day that Benjamin received the news in this same bloody office of his former Lieutenant's death -- the death of him and his whole family. Little more than two years where  _ this _ man was  _ alive. _ And never bothered to  _ fucking well let Benjamin know otherwise. _

. . . however.

The more Benjamin looks -- the more he moves past his immediate assumptions of Schofield's character (and damn Will, he's very clever. Wearing plain clothing as though he were off-duty is a far cry from the sweeping silks of the other night -- Benjamin can  _ feel _ his mind tripping over that change, insisting that this is Will, not some new Schofield), the more Benjamin sees. 

Schofield is . . . older. Of course he's older. But past that, there's a -- well, Benjamin can't explain it, quite. Despite the nonchalance of his former second-in-command, Schofield has a tightness around his eyes that speaks otherwise. His grip on the glass he holds is loose and easy, but through the transparent material, Benjamin can see whiteness to Will's thumb and the way his arm is angled so that Benjamin can't see the tendons standing out in his wrist -- a trick often taught to those who must lie with their bodies in intimate company. Schofield isn't comfortable, not at all, but he is doing an excellent job of seeming otherwise. 

He's certainly playing all the right cards. Will always was the funniest when he was being an absolute twat, because for Will, being an absolute twat was what most other people would consider merely politely rude. Assuming his old entitlement into Benjamin's space when he  _ knows _ Benjamin is furious with him -- if he were looking in on Schofield doing this to anyone else, Benjamin would sit back and enjoy the show because Will could wind people into truly horrendous knots when he set his mind to it. It's less amusing now, but Benjamin still, absurdly, wants to laugh. And also to shake Will until his teeth rattled and Benjamin feels a whole lot less like screaming.

It hits him like a bolt of lightning, then.  _ That's it. _ Schofield -- no. It  _ is _ Will -- he's doing his best to work Benjamin up so much so that Benjamin doesn't notice something. What is it?

Will continues to sit, meeting Benjamin's stare. It holds firm.

. . . impossibly so. He isn't actually meeting Benjamin's gaze -- he's fixed his vision on a point close enough that it appears otherwise. It's another trick.

Benjamin  _ looks. _ He finally and firmly shoves the massive block of his own anger to the side and, in the clarity that follows, pays  _ strict _ attention to what is in front of him.

Will is pretending to be precisely what Benjamin remembers him to be. He is trying to be the man Benjamin knew and mourned -- the man who was his second-in-command, the friend beyond the colleague. But that man never existed, not really -- and Benjamin knew that Will was more than those things. 

Will's eyes might be hooded, but that doesn't mean Benjamin doesn't notice that there's too much white in them to be anything but afraid.

. . . fuck. Benjamin isn't less angry, precisely, but he does soften. Whether or not Will has been a bastard, whatever he's doing now is in spite of some terrible strain.

Benjamin closes his eyes and breathes out, deeply. He doesn't  _ think _ he'll regret this, but -- well, he'll have to see. He stops trying to mask his expression and reaches out to take the drink Will has made.

"Fuck you, Will," he says. "Where the  _ fuck _ have you been?"

When Benjamin next looks at Will, it is in time to see Will's shoulders sag -- very slightly.  _ Very _ slightly. He's been well-trained in lying with his posture, far more so than Benjamin recalls he was before, but not so well-trained that he doesn't give anything away. 

"I'm sorry I didn't get in touch with you sooner," Will says, still a touch formal. 

Benjamin says "Your wife and daughters were slaughtered by Reavers" and Will's composure  _ shatters. _

He freezes and becomes absolutely still. It is only for a moment, but it is enough to tell Benjamin that Will is nowhere remotely over what happened and that it would have been kinder if he had just shot Will instead.

Benjamin slots this information away. Perhaps it is that Will has worked a great deal to give at least the appearance of moving past it -- no. More likely, given Will's own reaction when they ran into each other at the banquet, Will has been doing his best to forget it entirely. To subsume that part of his life so completely that its utter destruction wouldn't trouble him. 

No wonder Will never got in touch with Benjamin. 

Will breathes, thawing. He wets his lips and says, "Yes." 

"The best my contacts could ascertain was that you died along with them."  _ I went _ looking  _ for you. _

Will's grip tightens obviously on the glass. His breathing is starting to become shallow. "I wasn't," he says, still sounding admirably calm.  _ I wish I had _ is what he really means.

It hangs. Neither of them say anything. 

Benjamin, however, feels on firmer ground. His temper is also starting to cool. So when it becomes obvious to him that Will clearly intends to keep speaking but cannot seem to do it -- he must be taking some sort of drug for that anxiety, as his hands are starting to shake -- Benjamin interrupts the silence himself.

"Fuck it," he says, businesslike, and leans back. He drains the rest of his drink and sets it on the desk. "Are you busy for the remainder of the day?"

Will blinks but the change in subject seems to jar him free from whatever is dragging him down. "Er -- no? Not really, no."

"Good," Benjamin says and leans forward again to hit the intercom button. "Fatma, cancel everything else for today," he says. "Personal emergency. Our apologies, offers to reschedule at their convenience, the usual."

"Yes, sir," Fatma says through the speaker.

Benjamin points at Will, who is looking vaguely more alarmed by the moment. "Is whatever you're taking going to react badly with massive amounts of liquor?"

Will stares at him. "You're joking."

"If that's a yes, you'd better let me know now," Benjamin says, only half threatening. "Because we are going to catch up, as though we are normal people who have been out of touch for a few years but  _ didn't _ think the other person died tragically." 

Will looks like he can't decide whether to laugh or cry for a long moment before his mouth twitches into a ghost of his old smile. "You are the  _ worst," _ he says. He scrubs his face with one hand and seems to relax more naturally. 

Benjamin politely ignores the suspicious rasp in Will's voice. He blithely waves his hand with all the entitled arrogance he can muster, doing his best to play the Benjamin that Will remembers. "Pour me another drink, then. And tell me -- what is being a Companion like?"


	40. (8) Will & Ben, III [nsfw]

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A moment of realisation.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1\. CDTS  
> 2\. timeline-wise: the end of the weekend "holiday" that Lydia arranged for Ben back in Chapter 15!  
> 3\. tags: sex!!!, cuddlefucking, intercrural sex, porn with feelings, realising you're in love, etc. oh, and probably praise.

Will has a peculiar sense of bonelessness at the moment. He marvels at it; he doesn't think he's ever felt anything quite like this.

It could be how he and Ben are curled up together on the bed they've been in for the last day or so, recovering from their efforts in the early part of the weekend. Will has to admit that, truthfully, he had not really expected to be so -- affected; he'd come here furious, planning on fucking Ben in nearly every room of the Cottage in some sort of misguided attempt to protest Ben's neglecting to notify Will about his marriage. Instead, Will has the unsettling feeling that what he really managed to do was thoroughly express his jealousy at this new rival for Ben's time and affection. 

And Will had _really_ not expected Ben to respond quite so . . . lovingly. He had not fought Will in the slightest. He'd taken everything Will had given him and begged for more very prettily when Will demanded it; and then, when Will finally felt as though he had made his point, Ben reciprocated -- coaxing Will into this room and spending the last day in something like reverent worship, all implacable softness and tender adoration. 

\-- Maybe that's it, then. This . . . this sort of promise, which seems to exist between them now. This sense of being connected intrinsically. As though, at the end of things, it will always be them. Which leaves them here, spooned together in the bed: Ben, sleepily tracing patterns on Will's skin and leaving delicate, precise love-bites as the mood suits him; Will, dozing in a strangely ecstatic bone-deep satisfaction, reveling in every caress.

Will feels it as Ben firms up against him, twitching with greater interest the more Will sighs into Ben's soft touches and open-mouthed kisses. When Will lets his head roll back with a hum, Ben makes a hungry noise and nudges Will's thighs open with his knee, hand skimming down Will's side to rest possessively on Will's hip as he fits himself between them. 

Ben has had Will twice already, the second time not even an hour ago -- Will can't help the sound of embarrassed delight he makes when he feels Ben's prick catch against the half-drying mess he left on the sensitive skin of Will's inner thighs earlier. --Well. He could, it's just that with Ben, Will doesn't care to do so; and nothing gets Ben worked up more than hearing Will enjoy himself.

It remains true now. Will thrills when Ben's breath hitches and he rocks his hips sharply, grip tightening to bruising. Will feels Ben slide deliciously against him, a drag of skin that slips into that space of more intimate closeness and brushes against Will's own reviving interest.

Will relaxes into Ben's hold, settling himself so that the dips of his spine are warmed by Ben with how closely they are pressed together. He also cants his hips to the side, slightly; Ben reads it for the signal it is and changes his grip, scooping his hand under Will's right thigh so that Ben can have better control over the dimensions into which he moves.

Will feels the strain in Ben's body, flush as they are. Ben is actually shorter than Will and he is stretched, now, with his left arm hooked halfway over the top of Will's shoulders, using it for leverage as he thrusts into the creases of Will's thighs. Will feels Ben's breath as he starts to pant, hot against Will's shoulderblades.

Will takes himself in hand. He's enjoying the laziness of this pace, the slow enjoyment of each other's bodies; Ben seeking his own pleasure and using Will to do it. Will is already hard; it only takes a few teasing fingertips before he's aching, too, and craving each brush of Ben's blunt head. 

Together, they rock. The pleasure builds. Ben's panting starts to become harsh, his movements faster; Will works himself more urgently, feeling his desire start to take a more forceful drive. The lingering ache in his hips of having Ben and being had by Ben (over, and over, and _over_ \--) makes itself known even from this gentle effort -- it takes on a new significance. Will is surprised by the strength of his response, a sudden surge of overwhelming emotion that shocks through him. He gasps.

That is all Ben needs. He shudders against Will, his hips jerking sharply forward -- and then he spills out, warm and wet, over Will's thigh. Ben moans as he continues to rock for another moment, smearing the mess further in the time it takes for his body to process his release.

This tangible proof that Ben enjoys Will -- desires Will -- _loves_ Will -- trickling down his thighs, atop the mess from earlier -- Will crests. Ben wraps his arm around Will's waist as Will chokes on his breath and shivers through it. He dimly hears Ben murmuring praise as he presses kisses to Will's back and strokes down Will's belly, still twitching with the aftermath.

When it is over and their breathing has returned to normal, Ben finds Will's hand and twines their fingers together. He uses the hold around Will's waist to slowly draw Will back and -- well, not entirely out of the mess, but clear of the worst of it anyway; back until Will's arse is resting in the cradle of Ben's hips. 

It is so pleasant to be held like this. Will has the strangest sensation that he could lay like this forever. 

"I would rather it had been you, though," Ben whispers as the minutes stretch and Will is back to dozing, now nearly asleep. It is so quiet Will doesn't think Ben means him to hear it. "After it all . . . I wish it could have been you."

Will doesn't ask Ben what he means -- he suspects he knows. It could never have happened, though, not as they are now, and that thought is surprisingly painful.

He squeezes Ben's hand and settles back more firmly in Ben's arms. This will have to be enough. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I literally wrote this chapter bc I saw the tag "cuddlefucking" a few weeks ago and wanted . . . that . . . somehow!
> 
> Also, if you're wondering what is fueling me at this point, it's basically all those stage photos of Jamie Parker being topless (like [this fantastic example](https://cdn.discordapp.com/attachments/725422698435444767/747119669030420511/Ben_1.jpg)).


End file.
